Dear Therapist

Dear Therapist, I hate you. I don’t care about your degree, what’s your iq. I saw a picture of your kids and they look like Pikachu. But the wrong part of my parents divorce is you of course. Tell your kids to stop looking like the melted trojan horse. Every time you’re talking I think what you saying, Are you insane. I think you have syrup brain? When I go to your office I have the most pain. Worst then Ukraine. So bad I need a insurance claim. All you do is give a migraine I look at you and I want to pop a vein. Kids look like a deformed candy cane. But you want information, get an education, I need an investigation to find out why your kids look like an Asian raven. And waiting for you to get probation. Oh and your graduation. And your wife looks like anxiety from inside out. Put your kids up for sale with no doubt they would be on a discount. Sit down, I'm gonna show you how to count. To you, you're my therapist. But to Me, you’re a terrorist. once I stop seeing you, that would be a bullet. I just missed. After this, you would probably want to give your kids a kiss. your kids are so weird they start to hiss. I don’t disrespect the dead, so I’m ending to this diss