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Time Machines & Freewill

it is weirder than usual,

but when we see it spiral

we forget how it

should feel,

if fictions were

ever real

like moments we

recycle,

we play visions

in the pineal

but who's to see

the future now,

perhaps none except

God somehow

throwing out/

spitting out these words

unspoken

like senseless outcomes

from such a

balladmonger

we claim we have

known how to love

but we get what

we got like vessels

that're broken

and still could not

find love that is

purer

Still we claim we have

known it, how we love

something that's

untaught to us by the world

except from God above