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She stood there...
With her "mind", waiting for something more...
The thing was,
The circle she had drawn: faux pas
And the people she was talking to...
So let's say one poor fool flashed a glint
Some uninstinctual imprint
As if it was something so unbelievably seldom
That she worshipped this fool sheer out of boredom
But hold up:
Why does she deserve such a prize???
Assuming she's bright, with a half-decent guise...
Might've fooled a man's mind, easily, if it wasn't so obviously possible to arise...
Should it be she had a brain,
I would feel silly to complain;
But to doubt that fact is an untarnished proclamation
When someone so bold can judge a man by such harsh ultimatum
And to expect so much; neglecting attested oblation
Besides a flaunt and a glance and dirty conversation...
Might be enough for an unfit mind...
... but a man of good intellection?
Perhaps he has seen through all the lies of advertisation,
Which bombard most people's minds with sexual infestation
Then again, the world has no ultimate conclusion,
So who's he to say what makes or breaks this dimension...
Dementation, he decides, is the only outcome of over-thinking his discommodious situation
The use of his mind tapers in...
... And he finds himself again, mortal flesh, and made of mud.
The deceptively sensible decisions, which had ironically left him dumbfounded...
Evaporized into the mirky black waste,
The unexplainable dust which is the fabric of space.