Carpet burns,
Multicoloured neck in a beautiful bruise,
Red raw knees,
My beautiful muse.
Caught up in your eyes,
The war is over.
Not about the price oil anymore,
Just baby oil all over your body and floor,
As we slip inside the eyes of our minds,
Sweat drips in couplets.
Shower time,
Your body sublime,
entwined in the fuckeries,
You been ducking me lately,
And I seen you in day dreams,
****.

If i'm not a product of my environment,
what defines who I am?
Exactly.
Precisely.
I do not know.

What am I,
without environment?
A matter of circumstance?

Without a ball,
how can I play ball?

Just kicking stones across the landscapes.

Without a concept of the Ocean,
how can I understand the notion?

I only believe in what I see.

I speak English, as my mother tongue -
because I was taught from being born.

If I was born in India, I'd speak Indian,
maybe English too.

Surely this makes me a product of the environment.

How can I know of TV,
but a tribe member knows only of a spear.

What were exposed to is defined by our environment.

Tell me i'm wrong.
Tell me about predestination.
Tell me about the soul if you wish.

I think you missed the point.

If I was born in a cell, I would know only the cell.
I known what I'm shown and that much I can tell,
that i'm surely nothing more than a product of the environment.

Or maybe,
just maybe,
**the environment is a product of me too?