In my boyfriend's room a bunch of dust was fluttering about and it was disgusting, so I tried to imagine that they were beautiful petals fluttering about instead. It didn't work.
A given mission, mechanical assault, manufactured devotion.
Red eyes, an upside-down form. Even the twisted shape was made to be that way.
No matter how cruel the slaughter, worse than a demon's,
or how gentle the kindness, greater than an angel's,
a machine has neither will nor madness—only code, and a few bugs.
So why, then, does it feel so unbearably sad?