Atoms collide in hope of the one,
Who fits their orbital to such an extent,
Their hope to free themselves of the electron,
Haemoglobin and collagen,
Have certain structures I must try to remember,
And yet it excites me not.
American politics is complicated and dry,
With president after president,
With contrasting policy,
Someone take my pen,
Whilst I sleep on the table.
British foreign policy,
Is as dull as the air I breathe,
In the quiet and musty room,
In which my love of history,
Is killed hour by monotonous
written by poets I once liked,
but after hour after hour of tedious analysis,
have become my Foe,
Friend becomes enemy in the cruel world,
of literary analysis.
And I refuse to even begin,
Discussing the utter mystery that is
for even if I wanted too,
I don’t think I could.
Education is slowly becoming my identity,
I know nothing.