It's the grind
12:07 p.m.//11.26.06

Mood: lost and hopeless

To exit. To interrupt. I'm blackening daily, and the riches of my labor are the very things to which I am blind. It's this system that burns--where the seeds of disgust are planted and maintained daily by the overseers of all you do. And we are a legion of disillusioned, fleshly robots with fallable hearts and shelf lives.

And I am the substance created from two grinding cogs of emotion and daily slavery.


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