Cowardly Lion

León en La Puerta de Istar.

My cave is filled with books;
Bones would have been cooler...

Sloppy convolutions
—Doggerel bite-sized lexias—
Rip through a pixelated notepad,
While O Leãozingho rips
My tympanic membrane. 
Broca's area is ripe with data:
Packages of inane,
Chromatically famished,
Epicness drained data...
The Shame of Fleeing
Flippantly sits by my side.
«Asimila'o» hangs over my chest,
Like a scarlet letter.
Tired.
Bored.
Pissed off,
frustrated;

I dream of openness;
I crave the sea —
An opera made of photosynthesis.

But...
I'm a Lion.