Sour

My mind is souredLike pickles caught in teethLingering past the tasteAnd spreading doubt.I hate the cloak I wearOf clinging knowledgeI hate the doubts I feelAnd they are me and youAnd you.No longer do I taste of milkFresh and sweet and pureMy thoughts are long fermented.I will never know quite whereBut the road to deathIs paved…

The word “psychiatry”

Psychiatry and psychiatrist are powerful words. They stop conversations, and create awkward gaps. I try not to say I am a psychiatrist in social settings, sometimes muttering something about being a doctor, and usually wriggling out of anything further. Conversely, in a clinical setting, I always tell patients that I am a psychiatrist, probably because…