The Scorpions of the Skull

When they act as world, I highly doubt them,
Sent inside me through a spout or stem.
Whose roots abide under the skeptic sky,
Covered with clouds of certainty, which I won’t buy.

Perfectness is admired in a fool’s school,
0 or 1, humans aren’t a matter of bool.
Bites from the scorpions of the skull,
Leaving poison enough to avoid being dull.

The brain is what we see and observe,
It is the screen, and all the curves it serves.
So, the skull is the world, swirled and twirled
With people and some scorpions, if observed.

Venom? No! Soft bites of delusion and flattery,
Words so sweet as if they are a sugar factory.
Injection of ignorance & a balm of calm is all you need,
To kick out and crush the weed!

~Rishabh Rana