Can they speak for themselves
Or do they have wires on their mouths?
These are my scary little thoughts
Rolling around my head.
I don’t mean to offend.
I’m so in love
It makes me sick.
Hurt, hurt,
Nauseating hurt.
The machine devours human hearts,
expels commodities
for thoughtless masses.
The male genius
a fucking hypocrite.
Superflat affectation.
The woman artist
Perpetually
THE OTHER.
Our voice,
What fucking Voice?
Or do they have wires on their mouths?
These are my scary little thoughts
Rolling around my head.
I don’t mean to offend.
I’m so in love
It makes me sick.
Hurt, hurt,
Nauseating hurt.
The machine devours human hearts,
expels commodities
for thoughtless masses.
The male genius
a fucking hypocrite.
Superflat affectation.
The woman artist
Perpetually
THE OTHER.
Our voice,
What fucking Voice?
Moral: “When Art becomes a mass produced nonentity, It’s the end for all creative cognition amongst humanity”

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