Elementary Zombie science says that
the virus shuts you down, completely.
Restarts only your hunger, selectively.
But actually,
it doesn't specify - What to eat? - particularly.
It could be human meat or tin foil sheet.
Chunk of grass or Hunk of glass.
Pile of stones or Toblerones.
So, next time when you call me a zombie
while I hog over your cooking,
mind you,
I probably am.
According to debatable fan theories,
either Hulk is the strongest. He can lift trillions of tonnes,
or Superman is the strongest. He can lift Quintillions of tonnes.
But in actuation,
It doesn't specify - What weighs in Trillions and Quintillions of tonnes? - hon.
Could be a planet.
A star.
A supernova.
Yo mama.
So all those years ago, when I told you that I felt like Superman
as I carried you like a potato sack,
trust me
I did.
Based on the theory of The Great filter,
Humans and aliens have not been able to meet
because, they simply couldn't handle nature's heat.
Survival of the fittest.
But if you look at it neat,
it doesn't specify - the degree of selectivity - a feat.
A feat for us.
Ages of evolution.
Strong resolution.
And the race with rest of the sperms.
So, if after such scrutiny we've found each other.
When I beamed in my previous poem - don't be a stranger.
Believe me,
I meant it.
It's a pretty common belief that they're true,
all of them.
The stories and the fictions.
The legends and the dictions.
The myths.
So, my dear Greatly filtered, "heavy"ly armoured, cook of a friend.
Please don't be a myth.
YOU ARE READING
The Good place
PoesieThis is a collection of all the poems I've written about everything I'm curious about and more. Literal pitstop is the pen name I write under on WordPress and Instagram.
