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The Sham Therapist
In a cramped circle of weary souls,
I judge no one, nor take control.
Half an hour listening to their rant,
Where my true self is but a phantom haunt.
“You’re crude, abusive, just a man,
Lock them up, castrate, if you can.”
How dare I, pray, take one small step
To her who heals for love and pay?
I begged her silence, she grew more vile,
Cursed and mocked, called me a fool.
“How such as you survive is strange,” she’d say,
Who is she, then, and what divine claim?
Tattooed therapist, with baboon in hold,
From a family of drunkard and whore.
Crowned herself as nature’s peak,
Yet sows only ruin as she speaks.
Teaches trusting ladies to live by chance,
Covering with game and passion’s dance.
Yet leads them all to lonely nights,
Leaving eyes hollow, devoid of light.
Около минуты
19 апреля