Sonnet F60.2 – Antisocial Personality Disorder

At first he seemed a troubled ball of fog.

Too elusive to grasp.  Too vague to name.

So I searched for reason in his prologue

Where he claimed abuse was only a game

With self-declared rules and self serving plays

That could well have been rooted in mania

Which would seem to explain his monstrous ways

Better than stress or melancholia

Until he unleashed too great a horror

To contain with a kind diagnosis.

He passed from child to man to minotaur

With a power to harm that was boundless.

I tried my best to understand the beast

At the last it was I who knew him the least.

 

Antisocial Personality Disorder

 

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