Turn the ignition on, and turn our turbines
to kingdom come.
Psychosis washes over our lavish dreams, toxins
we let run wild.
Existence lines the stomach of our personas, as we
walk through the threshold of our beliefs, corrupted
with BOLD printing.
Vibrations of our emotions quiver on that screen, you
inhale in italic.
Ideological viruses bleed us dry, dehydrated, I send the
underscore.
A knot is tied and lit aflame with instant wave-lengths
reverberating.
Calloused fingers quake, as our batteries recede into a
binary coma.
F**k, the ignition is burnt out, I'll run, I'll prove to you
I'm worth the goddamn wait.
Lactic acids devour me, but your irises keep pushing me
like kinetic force.
My route, like an artery pumped full of neon, luminates
the rationale.
Hinges squeal under the urgency, all that's left is
our little electronic catalyst.