Born like an amoeboid,
Stretching out to feed its curios'ty,
From your brain's wondrous void,
No different than what's born in others,
Except when it grows legs,
Crawls tentatively to your mind's surface,
Changing shape, adapting to the new digs,
It grows until free of your influence,
Has a mind of its own,
Still dependent on your voice to be heard,
By thoughts others have grown,
But no one hears,
Their own beasts are too much,
Even though they're all born of the same void,
And so exist in the same brain, as such.
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