Droids

Ask me questions about it if you want.

I can’t feel the blood running when I stick my hands under the ice, hanging from the roof.

I’m able to sink myself within it; with the knives providing cold reminders of my purpose.

Its debt is paid to me for a few moments, but it fails to learn its lesson.

Grabbing me away from casual consciousness, it arrests itself in a quiet spot within my grand golf course.

I proceed to bang my head against a sidewalk that silently shifts into a thunderous drum; drowning the potential to free myself from further friction.

An acid rain falls and all the worms arrive for hydration, having already sipped from a satisfying cup, completely forgetting the orange soda inside.

Toys break in the hands of toddlers; toddlers who lie about what their parents permit.

Invisible parents illuminate the iris and take away the tentativeness, reducing rationale.

A blast of diet apple juice soaks the floor providing a sticky shine; harmless, hunching over the dirt that deserved its place before.

No one noticed that they left the cap off, and now the remains of the building float away.

The windows burst widening the screens of all the siren-covered cars that would otherwise coast.

Soon the city suffocates under the cover it provides. This is what harmless negligence leads to.

Suffering in the the scenic art project, in the shelter of our submarines; where we f**k over each other and under the ceiling, in order to obtain omniscient orgasms.

We’re all going down at the same time, sucking at whatever c**k we can find, in pharmacies, in bars, or at local video stores; every inch smaller than the last.

Nuclear wars start in the bodies of every insect every night; all you can do is step on the bug and continue walking.

Young men don’t existence anymore as it would appear. We all wait by the watery mouths of a hungry audience, and we all run to avoid being swallowed.

This leaves the hunger in place as it continues to grow angrier, and we run faster.

The nonsensical cycles that run this round race, that s**t on the shiny rivers, that pollute the plantations.

This all provides pornography to encourage the robots, the b*****d children of bread and water, who know nothing but how to jerk off.

Blood is an unusual temptress, taunting these droids until they cum. Sometimes babies are born; half blood half droids. We fight their parents to ensure the right side wins out.

All of the grass in the world grows in the same ghetto every time. It f***s with our minds because we need our minds to be fucked.

Dandelions are called weeds even though they look like flowers. Some people see them as ugly because of their name. Some see the name as justification to pull them out, ironically increasing fertilization.

Eating them as vegetables, or in soup, serves as potential suicide. The system either understands or destroys, pulling out its c**k and pissing on the graves of the greats every time.

Each little fly doesn’t realize it can fly, as it hovers over the same piles of s**t every day.

Multitudes make for massive motorcycles, put their sounds are too quiet, unwilling to reveal themselves in order to rise up, and push the robots over, leaving them writhing in piles of their own cum.

Little leaves float in the breeze, even at night, as the nightclubs and the offices share common ground in the streets of the city.

They share the gleam of the glistening rain, glazing the ground. They share the lasers of the streetlights, creating a new world just for the people willing to be there to see it.

They either rest for the workday ahead, or sleep through it. They relieve themselves in their own masterful talents, unknowingly creating art on a grey canvas. They take solace in the fact that their eyes, their opinions, their hair, their libidos, their breasts, their lips, their c***s, their hands, are only theirs.

The droids did not choose this for them, and even their weak walls wouldn’t give way for their removal should they crash down.

It is with these thoughts that we realize that no matter how much ice we put on her hands, the blood will still be there. It will still run, and soon the ice will melt, and it will become bloodwater, and it will flow into the sewers, and into the oceans, and into the ground, and it will rain.