Intellect breeds not upon the hunting ground of untamed innocence but rather in the wastelands of a thick yearning of the unknown

One that slithers and slivers upon stringent of lost souls of withering promises

Lingering upon battlefields of torn hopes and miserable wisps of mock professors

Living and breathing through mines of deceit, intellect germinates

It lives in a house constructed by crumbling souls and unshed thoughts

One formed through a plethora of unreachable options

Curiosity its leering gaze and greed it's personal poison