AN: This didn't come out how I wanted but it's good enough.
When I was a kid… I wolfed down a goat.
Bit off its hind legs- watched it scream for more. I spoke to it in numbers, made them my spring. Hated all that commodity. free. Too tiresome for me.
Now, I've matured.
Sitting in class, I try to grasp, clasp, but end up with
just an empty desk.
I wonder, if wood could speak,
would it talk in numbers or sleep.
Probably sleep, only that's potent to prevail
in deciphering animal language.
So I march to the park,
a little doggy walks past,
barks blood through my opalescent brain.
It even leaves a stain, on the crisp, clear
beautifully lavish rear of my shirt,
shooting sin until it is tanned into my spinal cord.
And here was me thinking that
that would be the last equation to be solved.