Education is a difficult subject, it is all I have,
and I can never have enough. It is easier
to calculate facts and filter through numbers
than to tell you how I feel. It is easier to pretend
that in the stars I see swirling infernos of flammable
gases, and not your eyes, dreams and the nights
we slept together. Education is a master of disguise.

How do you oppress the people? Keep them clueless.
So I eat books like stale bread, dry texts
inhaled by the lungful. You sit in the bed
beside me, *******, and smoke. I tell you the same old
rigmarole. You'll die of cancer, a painful death
with no hair or dignity. You smile. Your lungs will bleed
and I will die of old age, alone, but thoroughly educated.