Math will be the death of me.
It's plotting something,
I can just feel it.
It'll try to find the surface area of my skin.
Divide me in two,
then turn me into an improper fraction.
Subtract my head from my body
and try to find the circumference.
Draw a line right through my spine
with a sharp blade.
Gently force all of my joints
into perfect backward acute angles.
Scalp me
and count each individual hair.
Hit me with a blunt object
then make a scatter plot with the blood.
Carefully remove my right eye,
then my left, to make it symmetrical.
Collect data and make a graph of how many times I scream
for it to stop, please stop, oh dear god stop.
Divide me by an imaginary number
to make sure I'm less than me.
Math is torture squared times the square root of agonizing screams x, where x = hell.
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Thoughts and Things
ПоэзияA thing. A thing in which I write some poetry. I've never really written much poetry, so... yeah. Exciting. It can get spooky sometimes. (By spooky, I mean that it can get dark. Trigger warning in advance, just in case.) Tread lightly. I'm obviously...
