it all just

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carbon based mannequins sit in a bar and have a conversation but all i hear is rehearsed static, morse code regurgitated from faded memories of dead men, all that comes to mind is the endless cycle of revolutions that we are forced to repeat in improved, similar, and modern repetitions again, and again, and again, and again

games of chance with an absent god, cards folded on the table, of all the chances we had there was no equity or fairness to this game, there was no glory, there was no fantasy, dream, or prospect of peace, wholesomeness, serenity

mechanisms of a conscious organism, useless trite, benign, redundant and elusive concepts wasted in effort, delusions of grandeur controlling the reigns of a predestined path you had no control over, everything you are constituted from the memories of stimulus unwillingly bestowed upon you until there it is you remain in that parasitic mass of consumer bacteria, a sentient virus imprisoned within the will of that larger mass

embrace me, i am the body of primal instinct and impulse, i am ambition, i am the spinning into the melancholic haze of austerity and i am the arms of death, i am the life breathed anew and i am the claws ripping it away, i am the external force out of your control, i am the will of that mass, i am the parasite, i am the monster