Faintly, a force is forming from an abyss of nothingness.
Swelling with the waste of wanton warriors, whaling of a withered world, curled, in the carriers to a scarier dilemma.
Brimstone, fire, a panorama of pandemonium, with jackals projected from podiums, and its right there on the screen.
Gleaming, on the seemingly glorious display, the loops play, and replay, in gorgeous indefinites, frayed in their tethered need to define our sentiments, so in kind, i severed it, and joined the collective.
Much better.
The machines now clever and draws my every breath to this ******* vortex in the sky.
My fruitless efforts defy, the physics of my inner cynic, if only i would get with it or just try.
Watching us just die.
And I feel fine.
Everything's alright.
I'm not in it to win it, but to survive.
Just assisting your suicide, as i'm resisting until i die, just don't resurrect me to the hive, and involve me in the lines, or the triviality of your times, that you are so proud ...
To squander, over yonder, pondering the fonder things, with bonkers themes, spread through out your memes, like a god ****** teen, burning tinfoil seams, on the street with thieves over a live feed.
Please.
Just keep drifting into the black hole, until its fed and full, or just blow out the lights of my futile fighting, and make me Noland void.