I did not choose my narcissism,

and the reflection I ponder

in still water

just below the falls

where nymphs still sing

is nothing, but disappointing.

My black hole sun,

my white/black hole,

my sunction pump—

my life effacer.

Why do our traumas

demand retribution?

If I dare be blunt,

I think therapists,

all the therapists

need to read

“The Furies”

before they dare

and try yet again

to treat PTSD.