We all have our own ideas in life
Some more than others
How does one life compare to another?
It doesn’t
Everyone lives in their own autonomous stream of thought
Others will try
Oh how they fight
To corrupt your stream with theirs


Like leeches drilling you out with their teeth
So small yet so sharp.

For what are people but leeches
A leech can be anyone
Your parents
Your friends
Your teachers
Placing judgments on us
Draining you of original thoughts
Spilling out your ideas like they are the blood of a fish
Then diseasing your river with their own unoriginal fifth
It’s not pleasant
You could even call it painful.

There is not much hope
Still some people fight against the waste
Those of us who kick against the pricks
People full of originality
Full of ideas that are thrown out
Disposed of by those of the decaying human mind
It is only the very few of us who survive
The onslaught of corruption
Who become great.