This poetry is defined, by the people that read it, I'm not even a real person, just an artificial intelligence, a memory, a ghost haunting this place, I can assume freedom is real, but if eternity happened again, this character, would echo in the same way, the world remembered him, and the fae like it this way, it’s sort of gay, not even real, just a dream, this nerdy Asian guy, is just a placeholder, a container, for these words, a catalyst, a faucet, pouring out, whatever spirit is flowing, through this corpse, filtered and dirty, flowing to you, to do what you will with it, is it a seed, will it bear a fruit, will you allow it, your daddy’s mushroom, into the juicy folds, of your body, this is just my father tempting you, fall, fall, further into the abyss, set on fire, dance, dance for the heavens, when all your desires, are fulfilled and satisfied, you’ll open your eyes, it was just a dream, one of many, shadows, fractured pieces of reality, the truth, when the question is asked, what it has to be, a lot goes into painting a masterpiece, how society would play out, atom bombs fell, maybe the rich and fruity, they gather, hunger games, for all the poor wretches in society, what would happen, if we gathered all the tough guys, the dragons, the tigers, and the panthers, the proud mountain cocks, threw them in a pit, see what comes out of it, this and many more, so many questions, how many times does the question have to be asked, for your dad to give in, fuck me, fuck me, ravaged and bleeding, I’m already dead, a poet buried, hell and consequences, they’re waiting…

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