My brain is mush, soft and gray.
The mania has come my way.
I’ve cut apart more things to slices,
than Jack the Ripper care suffices.
I do not drink and then derive,
I think this keeps my grades alive.
Of all the answers I’ve contrived,
and equations I’ve split asunder,
The denominator stays down under.
Calculators are like blasphemy,
to the purest religion in history.
When I duly think my day is done,
Homework till returns the sun,
The day anew, and sleep revived,
To class a minute late, arrived.
I’m lost in space, and loosing time.
My neurons look like fireflies.
But do not look into my eyes,
The mania survives.

Copyright 2009 – Steven J. Biars – All rights reserved.