just some typical angel-of-darkness randomness!

The minute hand pulsates and the hour hand aches,

they throb, perfectly synchcronised,

counting the minutes 'til arrival, departure, execution and freedom,

our digital-minds are programmed, set to believe anything we're told,

our plastic brains can't think for themselves,

we follow-the-leader like sheep,

the sun basks in the admiration of Its nine worshippers,

some see it as warm and inviting, making life possible,

others see it as destruction, devastation and death,

the stars flock in their millions to bow to the moon,

its silver-white-grey glow is both dark and bright at the same time,

a fantasy of hope in a dark dream,

the clock is still ticking its sinister death-pulse,

whose time is up today?

The End

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