He's a fixer
and he can't put it down,
this infinite knot of his subconsciousness.
"Maybe this time,"
he tells himself.
"Maybe if I untie THIS knot,
it will all fall into place
And the chaos inside my head
will begin to make some sort of sense."
But unfailingly, with every knot he unties
two more are revealed underneath.
He's laid it aside
who knows how many times
but he can't leave it alone for long.
He's a fixer.
As a kid, he took the telephone apart
to see how it worked. Satisfied,
he put it back together in the reverse order.
But his pain is not like that.
Above all, he wants to know WHY.
But there is no why;
what is, is. It goes no deeper,
no matter how hard he digs
or how many knots he unties.
The one thing he wants most of all to fix,
himself, is the one thing he can't.
And the fixer remains broken.
