the machine is writing
the morose machine
morbidly mired in a mechanical monotony
masking many melancholies that eclipse life
mute memories meandering in mind,
while mind-numbing monotony murders motivation
an ever lasting state of nothing happening
a mountain of mental maze
lamenting that it doesn’t have anything to say anymore.
mesmerizing, mirth? Moribund.
Magma marinates in the middle, machine minds
Soon lava? Masking any humanity?
This new emotion is unfound
with no grounds
The machine minds
maybe dies inside
but stands its ground
and try to humbly harness a human.