Mental Health

You, punishing martinet,
creep in obscure places, sulfur fumed,
focus on flaws, track pathos, dissect.

Time's up and now I'm blind and cursed,
and still fear stairs and fire and
sweet candies I've been forced to lick.

The cerebral map is charted.
I give you what you want—
syndrome here, signs of abuse,
bits of rage, blame, it's all in the genes you know,
worn bare like an old rug.

I drive home shocked at the mutant you suggest.
You, friend, tower, toss perceptions
like balls I'd fetch had I golden skills of retrieval.