My version of living hell
Will never match
Your version of living hell
So please don't try to make me well....

I am in huge nutshell
I am not ready to tell
So please don't dwell
Otherwise I will yell

Understanding pain is art
Not that easy problem, to sort
Your words are not from your heart
So they will never reach my heart


You won't ever feel empathy
So please don't show sympathy...

I'm tasting sugar on my eyelids
Syrup on my irises
Sour on my heartstrings
Bitter in my arteries
But we are more than corporeal
Meant to fly
And cross the boundaries
Transcend the frames of nature’s canvas
Spill our colors farther than the physical
We invent what we do not discover
The horizons and the realms of our future
And I am just like you
A mess of senses that
perception blends into

They are insane. Be careful, Morgan's packing heat and Kennedy is hopped up on Round-Up **** killer. “Put down that machete Morgan! Look out! Kennedy has a hand grenade!”

Dr. Beter: organic robotoids contain ultra-sonic cerebral holograms
These replications aren't clones as they don't possess brain engrams
Our dimensional quasi-reality demands androidal & robotic shams
are lubed to preclude jumps, squeals, fits, jolts, high spikes & jams
so as to dissipate external heat that'd be of a degree to roast lambs,
donkey-sized ponies, Senator Hugh Scott's flunkies & Easter hams,
ewes, Secretary James Forrestal's corpse and tubally-sterilized rams
to be retailed by the Walton/Walmart Chinese club known as Sam's