My Vascular ***** to an Animate Object is threadbare.
This Thing is at my center, this insubstantial machine isn't connected.
So neglected, It sits. Fragile and feeble and splintered and split.
And here I will be,
Captivated again by your ameteur refurbishment. You remedy and patch.
But I know what you are. The grim orange streetlamps illuminate you.
And you devour.
And I drown and I loose my breath as I give in and I am absorbed completely.
Soggy, damp, and oh, so obsessed.
And as expected, nothing tangible remains, just a wreched spectre, a terrible being. Not an animate.
My Vascular ***** will sit and stare and will remain threadbare.

I've not stopped dreaming.
I drift through these quays,
through the mouth, onwards!
And in this insubstantial ocean,
maybe I'll find my whale.
I float amongst the restless,
shouting for tomorrow.
And if only I see through this fog,
I could find what was lost.

I'll wake up one day,
but I hope I never stop dreaming.

My earth is in ecstasy.
Your nimble fingers draw out
what I've always wanted.
I burst into a new perspective,
my mind blossoms and my heart is thriving.