Are we so utterly destroyed? Are we raised to be lowered into depths a man can not physically dig? Why do we seek a hell so obviously guised as heaven? Are we beyond repair? Can we never be fixed to match the idea of a standard model? Would you want to? Did these gears in the machine ever have a chance to pass inspection in the first place? Was I doomed upon that assembly line? Were we all? Am I the reject in the dollar bin of a land full of selfish consuming monsters who have no teeth of their own waiting for their masters to chew and regurgitate back into their joyous awaiting mouths? Is the way I write this too imperfect? Does this gain me nothing but a stroke of ego? Should I expect to deserve more? too little product? a lackey robotic? Not enough dollar signs to place upon it? Are these feelings, feelings anymore? Or are they nothing but programmed responses? Am I alive by falling from the branch of a toxic Oak only to pollinate the oily soil?
Should I just be a good slave to the cult of "us" and earn for myself which no mortal has right putting a price tag on. Can robots trust?