Poke

You think of what to make of it
And then, you think, "why bother?"
You stare it right in the face,
And it looks like not another.
When it comes to poke you first,
To it you pay not heed
For then you notice, some time later,
That it does make you bleed.

It got you curious, then a bit furious,
And now, it's got your attention.
For all it would, and all it won't,
either say or mention.
Then you think, "Oh! Tis a game",
Or so that you are playing
But what it be, ne'er you see,
Goodness, what a shame!

You think you're smart, and all that crap,
Until in shit neck deep,
Then you figure, "It's a trap!"
Sorry, all you can do is weep.
For what to do,
Than think, then screw,
up, all that you can't handle,
But hold on, I know it's dark,
There you go! You do have match and candle!

Little does it make sense,
To you for sure, and to me,
These words, that we need not admire.
The mind of mine, is one big goblet,
in which, there's a dragon breathing fire.

Ouch!