perfect beings
you know you're beautiful and you know how to get the things you want. that scares me as it makes my blood boil. you're building the world in your image, but it doesn't leave much room for the rest of us. society built upon the broken backs of lesser people, it would be better if there was nothing to reign over us, nothing to subjugate over us and just let it all crawling back down the surface of the walls.
i say things in electric warbles, you look intently into this purple facade and find everything not according to your liking, but this will only serve to convey a vague sense of hope and loss. me? i've crossed over to the other side, where my imperfections lay perfect with the rest of us.
the bleak future has its hope in life support machinary, but what of life supported machines?
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