jealousy, hallucinogens, and an hour on the chair

who are you, psychiatrist
that you can eat the brains
of love. of green jacketed lust

that paper does not prove your truth
or entitle you to shabby tears
hard fought and earned by bite

tell, me you hideous oaf
that entitlement is your art
that zebra's stripes are yours

to count. that a lions roar
is an illusion, and you own
the abuses of faith. who are you

psychiatrist with your notes
on the inner-workings of pain
and the everything burning

within the souls unyours
without the soul of yours
who are you, psychiatrist?