The therapist is just
the rapist of the mind,
he wants to get inside,
wants me to confide,
but I don't,
I won't,
budge a single step.
I won't dare share
a single tear I have wept.
With your cold sterile hands
and your deathly gaze,
you will never know me
or emerge from this maze.
Perhaps he would like to get something off of his chest?
I'd start with the knife I'm going to plunge into his hideous sweater vest.