Today we started therapy,
like always, it was fun for me.
I watched your face go from determined to confused,
happy, to sad, then happy again as I told you my story.
The story of how my father beat me when I was a child.
I found it quite amusing, how easily you believed me,
for you see, I can't exactly remember what's happened to me.
But hey, if you're to pick your past, I'd rather make mine multiple choice!
I tell you about my plans,
how they get foiled by a silly man.
I laugh when I see rage cross your face,
due to me mentioning the man who sends me back to this place.
Confusion crosses your face once again when I laugh.
You ask, "what's so funny?"...
I don't reply.
You demand an answer, yet I still don't give you one.
It's clear to me that you've become particularly close to me,
even if you haven't realized it yet.
You return to your office later that day,
only to find something astray.
There's a small box on your desk, beaten but not bruised.
Naturally you open it to see whats insi