the bottle's like a violin,
screaming demons in my stomach,
a cyborg forging information as lunch,
purging an urge for self-destruction,
my outer shell's cold but the circuits a storm,
of electrical database lifespan into megabytes of ****,
see death is a story,
and my analogies are allegories,
mourning after the goriest morning is NOT worth storing,
blank pages turn into mythical dissipation,
and with that loud speaker you'd think he could pen down imagination,
a midnight gig playing with cosmic instrumentation,
for the humanoid race place your conscious on your invitation,
