I want to feast upon this knowledge;
Readily available, spreading its trembling legs upon a weak table like a midnight whore.
To be able to grip and grasp it, crushing it beneath me as I rise-
screaming and itching to dissolve in me like pure liquid before thrusting each particle and robbing it of it's only solid existence.
My only friend, I not only want you see, I need you.
I need you to run deep in my veins, to darken my blood with unforgettable words, to stench the oxygen surrounding strange humans- make them deeply inhale my fumes of intelligence and kindly pollute their thoughts of solely my existence.
I'd like you, knowledge, to drive me to the one place I'd rather be- the throne of success.
So one day, I promise you, I will linger upon the throne and dreamily smile down upon the documents of my lifes work. And I shall rather be damned to hell than grasp the throne and place it on my head.
No, no, see I'll be the throne myself and break that bastard in two with my bare hands.. using only the muscles you, knowledge, have produced.
