The world won’t stop spinning.
Listen big to the sound of God in her eyes. Can’t you love me right, head low, hurts and cries.
What is this qualia? Why am I? Organic machine or more? A trapped spirit in a faulty and closed system. A caged and enslaved ghost?
Just trying to figure out the best organization and structure for story creation in an organization. This, of course, is a work in progress.
Simple animal, chained to instinct, prisoner of the sensual. | Predictable behavior, expected consumption, typical response.
Listen now, nothing agrees unless it’s paid for. What sort of mischief is this that world turns on a dime?
Drop courage every time I grab for me. Stomach gods rumble and growl.
Slave to hunger, bind the free. And At the center of it all a malnourished juvenile psyche crawl.
The machine has consumed me and no love remains in these parts. I’m afraid the room has cleared and the last call passed.
How long does it take to forget the bad? It depends on what you look for and like to rehearse.
