it is not me
it is the computer

i do what it tells me to
i am puppet to the master

old reality lost
we created

we control it's true
mistakes are made

not by sentient circuits
dumb humans

Fate that's placed can often fade
as not all future states of intent are set.
The red direction changes status
with which short term paths to step ahead,
when we seek highs but lows commence.

A complex collective mix and match
of varied voices within each pack.
Try to listen softly as your intuition leads,
as ego driven voids a balanced clarity.
Are we lost in the broth life serves us,
between the choice of salt or sweet.

Drawn towards distant points imagined
through our lost and found realities.
Find space in time to recuperate,
when you let the mind wander and lust,
remembering we're here to master masts.

dog my friend my dog
he is master i love him
we **** together

Who am I to question,
When hardships befall over me?
Let it be a vast circle of bulky mountains,
Ensnaring me from all sides.
If I fall into a threatening void,
A void that gnaws at my soul,
And is ravenous for my worn-out soul,
That helps me encounter more turbulences.

But who am I to question my tolerance of enduring a void that ravens for troubles for me?
When my Master, the Beloved of the Almighty,
Stated that Muslims are prepared to confront
Whatever situation they may face with their faith.

With my faith,
I can pull myself out of the void,
Shove off bulky mountains,
because
they ain't heavier than my
Iman.

finally, she has learned how to
love herself, till the sun shines
and moon comes back—
to lighten the night
the storms calm down,
waves become ceased
and the ocean is tranquil
in all chapters of her life
she has mastered the techniques
of surviving in hell

I still hear your euphoric melodies,
The way your eyes would sing.
Vivace, you set the tempo;
The master of playing my heart strings.

Who did you imagine,
when I appeared?
Words and nothing more,
more than you
imagined
much less than you have hoped,
had forethought been your reason
to be.

----
Look,
it is 2020, gnoshit, we are the beings involved

in revolution re
defined,
turn, turn, turn, there is a time
for ever in seasons of ifery
wished in comics

Red Sonya, eh, a Marvel Archetype,
or a thought,
a notion, or a gumption to appear as real,
an angel,

a word to the wise.
Stay alive, don't **** the buzz.

Cigarette smoke made
Your mouth taste like ash so
I dug deeper into your throat to find an
Approximation of honesty, caked in filth and motherhood.
You would bow down before the wrong masters and yet consider yourself mine...
And a good master protects his pet, respects his pet, Listens to his pet.
Do not approach me with apologies that are late and I will not approach with the same.