The moon is a beacon to future cycles
as I hold the novel over my heart. My
bible has become my heart and I owe
nothing to anyone.

Consideration seems to fall short when
someone else's dreams are involved. Oh
there must be another way to make this
discrepancy crawl into the pits of Hell and
never show it's dirty face 'round here again.

Diet Ginger Ale cures unsettled stomachs
though it settles nothing in the mind nor
the vomit that is already creeping up your
throat. The burning, the convulsions, they
all seem to illusory for the time being.

We go into a state of shock when we're upset.

Our hearts begin to beat slower, our mind
becomes a turtle. Water is nowhere to be seen.
Much like the helper T cells, our brain
remembers pain before and thus, we become
lost in a trance to the pain aforementioned.

We become machines.

And so that is where consideration faulters.
White cells are devouring our empathy and
the robots we are mean nothing to anyone
but ourselves. We have become the rich man
taking advantage of the poverty in so many
third world countries.

There comes a time when the dream does
end and the imprints left are what shape us.
If medication must take heed in helping us
fraction the cost, then I say, Why not?

Who says no to a good thing? Who says, No
thanks, see ya later, I'd rather die unhappy?
The humble. And where are the humble?

So maybe this seems quite arrogant. Maybe
this seems antagonistic. Well so be it. My pain
is not to be remember. My dream world is
beginning to be constructed and there's no way
in the world I would let the beams fall away on
this project.

I want to get better.
I don't want to be a robot.
I am not a machine.