Harlot Nights

The Fourth Installment
Of my
The Artisans Series

The Shrink

She sits in her chair
every day of her life
Her life was lived there
For she was no longer a wife

She loved to help others
From their inner demons indeed
But to her own demonic manifestations
Did her negativity feed

Patients come in and go
Trying to go from bad to better
She would heal their wounds
But herself never the latter

She once treated a poet
who just wanted love
A sadistic morbid painter
who was as beautiful as a dove

Even a Cellist
who could play only grief
But in none of her patients
did she find relief

Be a scholar they said
Live a happy and rich life
Find a really good husband
and be his lovely wedded wife

Happily ever after
never really came
for as fast as she lost her patient
as fast as she was going insane

The bastard she would blame
For all of her distress
But was it his fault
When she choose duty over dress?

With her suffering on going
And not helping the fleeing
She'd be dying rather crying
For joy she was not feeling

And as she sees the pills
which she gave the sick
she told herself
This is it
This is it
This
Is

With Love,Honesty and Sincere Apologies
WanNor "Slasher" Valentine