Artificial (Draft).

pray to your artificial god,
my mania sulks, 
the black corvid longs
for me;
lost within shunted 
	an affair with emotions
there, into a new split mind
never understanding the burden of faith
bound to my hands. I wait death
with my tears, 
a nightmare of art:
feeling well and guilt
feeling well and forgotten.

© 2021 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.

Written for the twitter MadVerse prompt: “Artificial Gods.”

19 thoughts on “Artificial (Draft).”

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