(You just lost.)

In other news, we're all alive and I can't be bothered to look for that interview with Harold Camping anymore. I went to bed at about 1 in the morning, therefore the world couldn't have ended. Anyway...

Yet another poem I wrote during English when I should have been paying attention for my torture coursework bullshitting aptitude test Controlled Assessment. For those of you who don't know, a controlled assessment is when you sit in a room for far too long and write an essay. It replaced coursework (where you do in-depth, extended work at home) because of concerns about plagiarism. So now, instead of being able to show off your knowledge and do research at your own pace, you only get access to specific things, you can only use certain kinds of notes (some of the rules are that you can't take in printed notes unless you're a laptop user and that you can't write notes in paragraphs) which, incidentally, are far more limited than notes you'd use at home, and the have to do it at school with at least 100 other people (I'm not trying to shoehorn a meme in here, there genuinely are at least 100 people in an academic year depending on how big your school is) and no access to further notes - because apparently expanding your knowledge is the same as cheating.

Anyway, long rant is long and has nothing to do with the poem.

It's just a game to you, some complex
Charade that spins through
My days and nights, infecting truth
With madness; I want honesty, I beg of you,
I want to walk the straight path proud and free,
Unshackled by blind bindings and cruel chains
I want reality, no poor mean riddle, only life -
Is that too much to ask?