Can you help me little buddy?
My sores are still here,
Forever not healed,
Scorched, depraved, open.
I accept them and carry on,
I show them off yet people do not like to see.
Even though I see their sores are more plentiful than mine.
They bear the bosom of physicality
And then worship it.
Eyes open right before sleep,
Know that the demon haunts you,
And then bring her down.
If you can’t realize reality is just
A dream hidden to you,
A futuristically robotic scheme,
Make sense of yourself.
Then contact us…