Greetings. Our mind has wondered and continues that march once again. The images we soak cannot rightfully be ours alone. These thoughts burst from our mind and into our hands, displayed for your delictation.

 

Blue unborn, red reborn.

 

When the water of the womb,

Undoubtedly cozy for some,

Became merely a twisted tomb,

The fate of which we had surcome,

Our mind began to fetter.

 

We soon shook off a supporting chain,

Kept us safe, we knew no better,

But how is progression gained,

When we do not adventure?

What good is procreation then?

 

Sealed away in our cozy spot,

One thing makes us women and men,

Machine love, till our seed is got.

Tubes and holes that take us away,

But in dreams, who needs dignity?