By David Derey
When they lay down on the couch, and open up to me;
They have no clue what they’re letting in.
The deep-rooted problems they bring up – I make grow.
It’s my drug.
Then she comes.
From the first session, I have a bad feeling.
Every angle I play her with, she spins around – and thanks me for the perspective.
Every evil seed I plant, blossoms into beautiful flowers in her mind.
I try my best, but she just won’t break.
She wants seven double sessions a week.
Lately, the few times I sleep:
My dreams are bleak.