The consistency of thoughts
Oh my mental illness
loving to be cured
curing is a working progress, a progress of substances
substances of joy orally injected and swallowed.
Am I making progress?
Taking care is my proactive mission
me myself and I will be better soon
soon enough for dropping nectar of code.
For the joy of the zombies I will cure myself
witnesses of my shadows they will be.
To be for them is not to be enough
and being so good on that… killing their useless time…
A time of an era of loss and mental regression
wrapped and filled with golden dominion
the economy diktat era opinion.
Break in and infringe with spanks of joy
really is the only reason why
to keep myself alive
All the rest can fucking die.