I'm sitting on the carpet of my rented room Swatting neurotically at gnats and fleas that may Or may not Actually be there, On my arms and on my face. The only proof are the little red bites, Up my left arm and across the bottom of my chin, where they stop. As if my blood boils while I sleep, leaving little red marks to show that I need to Chill out Calm down De-stress But I'm in distress, Destroyed. I need a higher up. I need a voice that speaks with more experience, With firm understanding, With the knowledge of everything. And I can't seem to find it in Bibles, Torahs, Quarans, or other holy scriptures. I only hear it whisper from old history textbooks, I hear it only Chiming softly like drowned out cymbals from the radio talk I only see it peripherally in my rear view mirror, Can only taste it as an after taste of many drinks. It is ribonucleic acid, It is thymine, guanine, adenine, and cytosine. It is the carpet of my rented room.