A therapist's fool

They ask me now, “What happened to Monday sessions?” The one hour of no calls, No texts, no meet ups now? A light chuckle escapes my lips And I fear they would not believe, So, I hope I say this with no lisp That the devil couldn’t get a hold of me But he came in the form of my therapist, Dressed in whispering, healing harm Touching wounds, he claimed he came to mend and calm The devil couldn’t get to me But he learned my name in the waiting room Smiled like salvation And called himself the cure, while stirring doubt into my bones A deadly concoction The devil couldn’t get to me , but He slipped into my mind wearing a gentle voice A serpent in a chair My pain his playground And my soul cried in despair He convinced me the darkness was my own And so, no one will believe, That finally the devil, Satan himself, could not get to me But found a doorway in a man with soft eyes A false shepherd, who questioned me about my soul Just to feed on the pieces that broke when I answered A therapist’s fool