tell me it is just stress once more

I might not belong; or, feeling disconnected, and unable to explain the Flash! On becoming artificial: all that gravity weighing me, the lethargy and the awkward … we knew there would be no tomorrow (for us). We knew! there would be no tomorrow (future). What we [what we] didn’t expect_ spikes in our synapses and tough foam surrounding our head. The ineffectual implosion/visions, shooting rages, thee ERRORs and this heavy corroded spine. Wait. Lets start.. again. Migrated skids –through-the-Aimed fantastic small red vanishing point. Shoot me now. But, in general, the expectation that we should perform normal.. Reels for a connection; yet smashed, the immediate unraveling human himself; myself; like a frustrated robot… Only freakin crashes, flakes, right vanished with heaves, and Oooh I just ripple thru gears, engaging fingers keying fast enough to have won the brand new war..but not explaining much of anything.

Thus, where Corrupt files angst, like my system evaporates in shortcuts to feelings, stress, a virus. I am continually left with marks in chains of deleting phases. I am keying mmmultiple commands, but simultaneously memorizing the entries, and mesmerizing, but everything.. pauses.. But, everything!..that shines reflected in from the dark, purely cries, Everything! behind me stares, turns. Switch-boards, crushed parts, crumbs of piano-like panelboards, chips/gold tooths instantly rusting. Compartments blasted open. Fascinating screams into the universe, detach; .. .. Frying damn sensors and circuits, crashes, misaligning events .... of mankind. I might not belong or be made for this world—and, and I cannot reach! anyone or even begin to tell how vacant, hollow shouts, how artificial I am. Readout levels, reprogram like hot flashes sync through transferring terabits of printouts appearing normal. I mean, I’m not working. But behind me, the tests, after determining, the results show me as operating correctly.

Odd. Internal instrumental sounds like dreams cast.... emerges.... amongst construed ignition, and cranks, locks inside, trapped circulation and absorbing of this world, flips another switch after another; and upon defining, dawns another description of these horrid connections to this world; trapped soul in this body = Herniated rusting inside-out, taste numb swelli:::ng --- just too much. Too too much to exude. 

Angels-Airwaves _Call-to-Arms//Spinning. Loading. The Fuel, thee only hope and heart that truly submerges.. rearranging the stabs and incorrect terminals and wicked claims that it all could be merely stress - “HA!”, i says - is the sound/voice, the echoes of forevers -'#Ifeelyourheaaaarrrerrrrrttt'- deflecting perfect.. Flash! And the worlds become wavy. Flash! And. .thanks for raging/reading/connecting.