Remote in hand you think you have control control of what you see, of what you hear. But wait! This freedom of choice is merely an illusion for programmed to perfection, we are!
Restless, i prowl the corridors craving for the first spray of rain. An insomniac, a recluse in a crowd, the garb of happiness i feign. In the wave of humanity i long for a touch ,anticipating, all in vain. Withering from the insides, in melancholy i still remain.
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