Short circuits cultivated while womb wrapped

Fine tuned at birth by a world's hysterical rotation

Make for minds with a high functioning fragility

We succumb like rust under a chemical horizon

Beautiful shells

Completely absent of inward potency

No comfort came calling

only these cluttered confines now saturated with silence

No acknowledgement that you are real

only discarded contraptions piled haphazardly

They reach into the sky

As if searching for a reason splattered in the cosmos

No remedy found upon arrival

Only an indifferent observer demanding our place in it's kingdom

With merely superficial succulents as frame of reference

We have no clear answers for articulating