Electric screams set the scene on the night of my death
Red glares spilled on my bed where I silenced my breath
Steel grip tightly abreast, my eyes wild, suggests I'm gliding to ecstasy
by the design of its weaponry - my titanium sex machine.
Its Sara-Beta, the serenading mecha-lady. Programmed fetishes and quirks
come from tessellating metadata. I was replicating her
Before her drift to tragedy - My last kiss with heaven's maiden
Was under power lines screaming towards distant galaxies
Her blissful majesty - it's different from this sexual elation
I think, as I drag my cigarette, discontent & next to my creation
It asks me if I love it. Like some function had it fuck for the truth.
I tell her I can love in my dreams. Angry beeping. "DOESN'T. COMPUTE."
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