Mind Field

His schizoid personality
Fragmented at the age of eight
His grandmother brought him to me
For treatment, but it was too late

For he has tasted blood
And his mind- his mind is mud
And it's black, oozing mud

His cannibalistic urges
Originated who knows where
I can't make my diagnosis
He nauseates me, I don't care

For he has made me sick
And his mind- his mind is shit
And in the black, a wicked wit

And if it wasn't illegal
I'd cut his throat with a penknife
I'd hang his bones in my office
If it wasn't immoral

For I have tasted blood
And my mind