Should I become a psychotherapist?
Well I’ve finished my degree
‘n I’ve done my best;
I took all of my exams
‘n passed my biggest test.
Three years of learning
and its all off my chest
now all I’ve got to think about
is what I will do next.
I could open a spa
for girls with big breasts,
where they can walk around naked
‘n guys won’t be pests.
I’d employ gorgeous women
to work undressed
then my best friends and I
would supervise the rest.
I could organise and start
my own escort agency;
pimping stunning girlies
whilst getting my bit for free.
Working unsocial hours
or whatever suits me,
playing pimp daddy
but still not using my degree.
I could open up a sweat shop,
deep in the Sudan,
whilst earning my living
exploiting your average African.
I would delegate management
to another man
and lay upon a sunny beach
working on my tan.
I could set up a porn site
for exceedingly depraved men,
videoing terminally ill women
in a bull fighting pen.
Pitting them off against each
other, whilst tripping on medicine,
using thirty different cameras
to get the best view of them.
And whilst in the porn business,
I may as well continue,
to design and manufacture
a special cum tissue,
so when customers sit and masturbate
in their favourite venue,
the pages won’t get stuck together
of their brand new issue.
I could immigrate to Prague
and open my own branch
of Hostel’s sadomasochistic
organ harvesting ranch,
where every human part would
be used right down to haunch
and the bits than no one wanted
would be sandwiched up for lunch.
I could buy myself a camper van
and head out west,
find myself the perfect spot
and set up nest.
Marry myself a local hick
with one deformed breast -
marry her sister and mother too
to become a bigamist,
I could jet out to the orient
and live it up in China
or do the same in Thailand,
only shack up with a minor,
where I’d wait ‘till she was older
before I climbed inside her,
because despite my deviant poetry,
I don’t do baby vagina.
I could invent something useful;
memorable across time
and on the stairs of the Dragons Den
lay a cluster mine,
for the likelihood is rejection
by Duncan Ballantine.
So by blowing up that rich smug git,
the name you’ll remember is mine.
But, if after fame,
infamy or notoriety,
I should find a way
to portray what I see
because if appealing movies
are violent and gory,
imagine the revenue
for my mental story.
No one could predict
just how fucked up it’d be,
to watch a two hour movie
about a chainsaw and me,
running around,
ripping guts out with glee,
bathing children in the blood
in the name of Christianity.
But that’s not what I
want to do after Uni;
to chop people up
would make me a loony.
Just to think this shit limits
my employability.
I don’t really want to
slice and dice up your family
What I want to do
involves zero hard work -
not lifting a finger
and avoiding dirt.
I might not even
have to stay alert,
I’d just sit back and be
your psychological expert.
You see, it takes somebody
like me to get it,
somebody who can’t judge you
as pathetic,
who understands why
you chose to dance in traffic
and can relate to your insanity,
no matter how graphic.
Psychotherapy is what
I think I will do
so when you lose the plot
it is I you come to.
It is me that you’ll pay
to help you through
your paranoia about your neighbour
who is spying on you.
But what you don’t know, is
it is I who is spying,
on you after domestics
because I enjoy watching you crying,
because it isn’t enough
just to hear you confessing.
I need to jerk off
whilst I watch you undressing.
As your therapist,
I’d have taken a confidential oath.
That would mean what you said
would stay between us both.
But that doesn’t mean
I won’t pretend to be a ghost
and creep around your house
like an unwanted host.
Working with the information
you chose to confide in me
to conduct my own unnecessary
illegal ethnography.
I’d creep around your crawl space,
slyly and stealthily,
and probably fall through
your ceiling accidentally
and land across the laps
of you and your brother
who was the guy you referred to
as your secret lover
and, yes, this took my
creepy tendencies to discover.
But if you sue me, I promise,
I will tell your mother.
So it’s blackmail how
I’ll make my financial amount
as well as your psychotherapist
and crawl space scout.
But yours isn’t the only ceiling
where I’ve been hiding out -
at Uni I was in all ceilings
crawling about.
So whilst I’m planning my future
from the list above
what you guys should be wondering is
if I’ve had enough,
of hiding in the ceilings
or making up career stuff,
because either way
your lives
I’m destined
to disrupt.
Copyright. 2009-2010 James Francis
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