blessed be
ability to cope
with chronic me
stupid grim
on my face
when I hear myself
bark at hand
blessed be
sweet dream
condensed into flesh
here
sinner awakes
one breath away
from a certain death
the weather was kind this year
the clouds seemed all-natural
the rain outside had no bitter taste
and if all my wishes were to come true
I would irrationally ask for more predictable use of flood
as the unconditioned stimulus in our controlled environment
no
definitely not
can’t call it an experiment
Earth is a nice facility
a little flat
a little round
birds do exist
but my hand is not feathered
what on Earth
would the point be
of no return