by Nick Gisburne
Consider me the saviour of your kind.
I bring you gifts more beautiful than gold.
Release a key, a promise, from your mind,
For then my cryptic wonders will unfold.
I thank you, for your confidence, your trust.
Permit me now to show you what I can.
A traveller, a pilgrim, I am dust.
You see me as a mechanoid, a man.
I bring you knowledge, purity, and peace.
Or did. I am imperfect, broken, breached.
The virus I ingested will not cease
Until a state of nothingness is reached.
Apologies. My motives were sincere,
But nothing will survive. You have a year.
