(no subject)
You are merely a message sent from chest to mind.
Not a movement of soul but a filing of data.
Of self, nothing is known.
Zeroes and Ones, I paint your very being into life.
Stuck in time, I’ll mix these colors to a putrid grey.
100 yards and lingering still the foul stench of scum and stale breath.
I gag as not to breathe you in.
Then vomit slightly, just in case.
by Flinn
Not a movement of soul but a filing of data.
Of self, nothing is known.
Zeroes and Ones, I paint your very being into life.
Stuck in time, I’ll mix these colors to a putrid grey.
100 yards and lingering still the foul stench of scum and stale breath.
I gag as not to breathe you in.
Then vomit slightly, just in case.
by Flinn