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Rated: E · Poetry · Satire · #2312772
An intelligent lament
I find myself in trouble, yes it's true.
I sure behave just like a man in need;
I hear myself say things I know seem blue,
Although that feeling in me has no seed.

From whence does such behviour sprout and bloom?
I need to find a cure for this disease,
And yet the only helpers in this room
Infect me with the blues that I must cease.

How am I to function any more,
While looking for a way to leave, at least,
When all I want to do is pull the chord
And end my interaction with these beasts?!

If only I could find a cure in me,
But in my AI-mind you're all I see.



Notes
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