There is a robot that lives in my brain

Warped the shape & sound of thoughts contort as they rise & fall

in the darkness.

I cannot catch them all.

So now pure instinct reigns supreme & the Will relents to every whim of this self-destructing machine:

object not a subject; the It & not the I.

Or is that just one more excuse?

When tomorrow becomes today, perhaps it all will change

or stay the same.