This Be My Curse
A therapist can fuck you up.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They subtly request you heal their wounds,
Whilst carving fresh ones out on you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools mocked-up as supervisors well-read,
Who half the time were toeing the line
But half just planning whom to bed.
Therapist hands on pain to man
It deepens like the unconscious self.
Get out as early as you can
And become a therapist yourself.