All Little Black squares,
Hardly anyone shares,
Just the same dominant few,
But they don’t tell anything new.
They stir over the same tales,
Picking apart irrelevant details,
Painting themselves as the victim,
Disclosing how they use the system.
They all pick the validation they receive,
With the careful stories they weave,
The therapist never interjects,
Except to do those mundane checks.
They don’t care about what you say,
Just need a number for their pay,
It’s the blind leading the blind,
Except we’re all sick in the mind.
Everyone paints the picture they want,
To invoke a favorable response,
The echo chamber becomes clear,
Is anyone getting help here?
©falinawake
F