Potent in our nature, to feed our selfish hunger,
whether it be our stomachs, emotions, or our survival.
Love? Please. We the higher species know,
yet walk blinded in comfort.
Where am I suppose find your "love" in that?
Feel your "touch" in that? Guess you just play along for sanity.
Fuck your world.
Then we fringe at the sounds of colorful verbs that challenge that very matrix.
Like a prostitute hears religion.
We search in comfort. Lay in the cosmic.
To every child, may you forever be.
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