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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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