Apr 3, 2021
It burrows deep into the mind,
Burrowing and burrowing,
Further as it burrows through matter,
In the borough of the mind,
Of labyrinth like streets,
It sets a hold and festers,
Rotten buildings of memories,
It replaces of it's own, until you,
Yes, you can only think of it --
It's whatever rots in the creases,
An idea, a person or a thing!
Heck, it can even be a zing --
A jingle of some kind.
But only for a time,
It'll change the building to suite,
The rot is a parasite with intent,
Dopamine and serotonin,
All flavors of the mind,
That rot reenthusies,
For days, weeks or maybe a few months,
Fixated on that rot,
Heck. well, maybe it ain't all bad,
Brain rot can be fine.