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The Misdiagnosis-and-Mistreatment Lament Catch it. Catch it if you can. Catch it early. Do not wait Until the tentacles Lose their grip. Until the tensors Forget their intensity. Until the mind Slackens and the tongue Flaps gibberish. Until the drool Congeals And nobody sees you as sane. And your mind and body Are now mundane objects Of manipulation In an assembly line Of the latest one-size-fits-all Weathervanes. They'll affix one to an amenable Membrane. You'll point in all the correct directions At all the appropriate times. But still be quite insane.
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