The fickle fascination
9:40 p.m.//04.11.07

Mood: transconfiguration

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 the two grinding cogs of emotion and daily neo-slavery.



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