Every passing minute,
Penetrates us with new implants,
Of dynamic stability,
Of anxious comfortability

Fixing until they're obsolete,
Machine flies in fleets,
Rust in our sterile neurons,
Symmetry causing deforms

An arcane glitch,
Until the illumination
Of our steel plated souls,
An untouchable virus,
Not alone but
Imaginary friends
Or personal nemeses,
Under the dust hides us

Fate lost its impact,
Before the very birth,
In self excusing motherboards

Entities of creation
Or accidental subelement relation,
Beings of chaos at unclarity,
No stalemate, always in action,
What's ever born of it,
Presumes towards destruction

and waiting and everything
in everyway, and everyday,
and everynight, waiting
seems
like a movie playing on an IMAX screen
and I'm the character in every scene,
and it all looks so plastic, oddly idyllic,
a situation drastic, I live in,
feeling like a dream,
nothing seems solid, no gravity,
just me
alone but with people doing their rounds,
the only thing missing
are the clowns.
that like to juggle in your dreams,
but the scream,
are not monsters or ghosts,
just real live old people,
dying in streams,
and every minute taking me away,
and leaving no trace
just me erased,
for all intents and
purposes.,
lonely, awaiting and cursed.

_
can't wait for it to be over soon