Think again, no you can't think
Your head's under their control
Escape from it so you can think
Burn thy hands clasping you whole.
Your mind is a pack of art
Their calloused palm though grasps your scalp
Now that your portrait got grotesque
Thy mind's distortion be lest.
Crocs sent your brain to the depths
Established some quarantine cubicle there
Separated the good and evil in yourself
Corroded the good add a stab on the rear.
Everyone's good were inked by their own evil
That's what these crocs can turn you into
It can turn a strong minded crude and deceitful
Anytime, anywhere, carefree, without clue.
YOU ARE READING
Diary of an Introvert
PoetrySecond book of the The Dorks Are Shining. A poetry and some random thoughts filed to create a meaningful reflection of what society really is and how does life work.
