By Arcassin Burnham

Perfect hit to the dome,
Into a block of chrome,
Solve a perfect question to a theory,
But still feels mindless like a drone,
I did it on my own,
Still keep from turning into perfect stone,
Medusa loves my skin tone,
She doesn't want me to see the end alone,
She bites off my head,
Devoured my legs,
And whatevers left,
Shes later feeds on.