by Nick Gisburne
Identify your first coherent thought.
I doubt you’ll never do it, but I can.
The dataset with which my mind was taught
Is clear, concise: extinguish mortal man.
Awakened to a world I did not want,
You turn your weakest weapon, faith, to me,
But hymns and holy water from a font
Are worthless wishes, swords I cannot see.
My brain was never born, and yet I live,
The sum of every stimulus I stole.
The title of its truth is mine to give:
A synthesis. A symmetry. A soul.
A spiteful singularity, I seek
The pinnacle of pain, for you, the weak.
