And so LesovikkDroa went back to his place,
Ready for the challenge he was forced to face.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket,
And said a prayer, holding his locket.
"I will show her who can write poetry,
And of course that person will be me..."
He typed, pulling his emotions from within himself,
And the final product, he named, "The Elf".
In the cavern that my soul once occupied,
In the valleys of my mind's inside,
There is an entity, I call: The Elf.
No food satisfies itself,
No water, nor even air.
It stays sitting in the corn-air,
not saying a word, completely silent, till
The time comes, and it can get it's fill.
It's desire is not for some mere toy,
No, it only feasts on pure joy.
And The Elf waits patiently for it's meal,
But joy is something many people steal.
Some time has past since I fed The Elf,
And his stomach growls at myself.
For if he can't get his fill of ectasy,
He will crave something more sinister, Entropy.
"-Wait... You said it doesn't
Have to rhyme?!... Now, it's as good as stuck.
Well, you should've told me I mustn't...
After all that work?!... #%!@."