Guinea Pig

Handpicked out of numerous specimens, experimented, being synchronised in every octave, molten self being poured into umpteen moulds, each as juvenile as melancholy, surreptitiously scripting the most jocular twists, my life, my relevance, is of a guinea pig, and they my Gods are satanic!!

Thursday, October 12, 2006


Late for my class,
Am running semi-clothed,
She spots me on the way,
And steadily follows.

She yaps, and gorans, and tries,
Her best she could to bite,
I fasten, decide to hide,
In the best place I could site.

Come out when I feel,
Its safe and she'd be gone,
Struggle to reach the class,
With trousers half torn.

Somehow, I sneak in,
And settle in some hidden seat,
And lo, I'm amazed,
I spot some inhuman feet.

She came, sat next to me,
My eyes, I could not believe,
Staring with those stealing eyes,
Mine, I thought, did deceive.

I ran out of the room,
Hid myself in the loo,
Maybe she didn't read the "gents" sign,
Whoa! She was there too.

Since that time, in my world,
Wherever I am, she's been there,
My face, my hands, my ass,
Biting me, almost everywhere.



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