Robotic legs, robotic arms some how lead me to the kitchen.
Once I get there, I mean no harm until I can't tell the direction.

Between what is right and what is wrong, and miscommunicated affection.

I drink the poison back as it beckons me and I can't find the description.

Between what is pain, and what is loss, and what is simple addiction.

Oh help me father, oh help me mother. I don't believe in religion.

But tonight I'll pray that the next day doesn't have so much conviction.

Robotic legs and robotic arms made me take the knife, and robotic legs and robotic arms made me write this fiction.