He pleads to be free, screened from the world behind curled plate glass windows.
Clawing at steel with fingers and heels, thrashing wildly and gnashing teeth.
He’s trapped in a cage, his information written across hundreds of pages of tests, already given.
Inside his head it’s a rainstorm, thunderclaps mourning the loss of mind maps and brilliance.
He sobs at night, told to be quiet, but still so frightened of the bold, deep, dark.
Only his demons talk to him with any solace, balking at the rest of the populace.
And he’s left alone in his room, scarring his face, his chest with honed talons, ‘til marred.
Dirty fingernails carving intricate designs, charging him with mad genius amidst the jailed.
They call him a monster, from form, and from intellect.
He just can’t control it.
