a poets reflect
Time is not of the matter, the experiences of peace flow and contentment are at the moment. I break and fall down, I walk away crippled and fake AI smiling.
What is it like to live autonomously, wherefrom do I derive my freedom hours, days, moments. Where does the remainder of my time go.. Flow..?
Who do I call innocent and why does my perception matter.
Where is the cow they milk dry
Where are the birds that stopped chirping. When will I have stopped smoking.
When can I walk again.. What is happening to me
Sometimes I wished the Birds would fly away they stopped and screamed in my face
Where does the time heal, I don't heel, time not, no time, in the zone, in heaven autonomous breathing my autonomy pointe zero