[The Overseer's Poem: Rotten Perfection]
Tick tock, tock tick, time is running,
Dare to defy me, aren’t you so cunning.
Flesh of machines, singing and humming.
Vines grow from blood, isn’t that stunning?
My eyes pierce deep, like webs of root.
Colours of rot, disturbing and mute.
Maggots are wriggling, happy in mood.
Tumorous liver packaged in soup.
Stenches of feces, he sees.
Sounds of metals, he settles.
Visions of cackles, he tackles.
Tastes of sweetness, I witness.
Drip! Flip! Slip! Dip! Crisp!
Utterly… Buttery! Hahaha…
Drowning… Browning… Astounding.
Obey… You’re prey… A play… Lalala!
I am the Overseer, the father of all.
My factories run within perfection’s wall.
Producing food from the finest ingredients!
Diaper seaweed covers all needed nutrients.
Oh… how do I spread the joy of my creation.
My influence penetrates through every nation.
Recycling food from mucus and corpses,
Disobedient worker, that’s what the corpse is.
Feelings of pleasures, he measures.
Touches of slimes, he rhymes.
Senses of dread, he bred.
Actions of love, I shove.
Pain… Gain… Reign… Strain… Vein.
Who’s looking? Who’s cooking?
Sizzle… Chisel… Drizzle… Pop!
beating, heating, eating slop.
My snakes reach close and far.
Staining your soul with sickening tar.
Slithering smoothly on skins, outside.
Invading organs from the inside.
I shall offer you a piece of me,
A glass of snake milk, given with glee.
My affection, as deep as the sea.
Now, don’t you worry; my love is free.
[Home]
Home… such a peculiar word, an alien warmth.
What am I really looking for? Buried by blood and bones.
Something I can’t quite touch, something I can’t recall.
But, my soul remembers. What is it?
Waking up every day, the rain sounds like screams and cries.
Rhythm of machines, harvesting, processing, completing.
Am I the Worker, or the Overseer?
Looking in His eyes, I see me…
My factories are perfect… I call it home.
But… this isn’t home, is it? No… home is supposed to be warm.
Flesh of machines, they are cold…
I can’t find home.
[March of the clones]
One, two, one, two! Thump! Thump! Thump!
Tears for salt, blood for umami.
Ticking Tocking, gotta meet the quota.
Bitter bile and sour mucus.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Forming a neat line.
Your will is my will; how can I decline?
Father Overseer you decide my life.
In my genes, never out of sight.
One, two, one two! Heart beats fast.
Wonder how long my life’s gonna last.
A slight mistake! Get thrown in a vat
Of corpse ice cream and maggot wine.
No.
This is the end.
[Lullaby for Him (From the Rebels with Love)]
Deep in space, a tumor floats...
Cold of corpses, organs bloat.
Creeping silence, no cry’s heard.
Mind once chaotic, now no word.
Stop resisting, it’s no use.
lie yourself down, letting loose.
May the vacuum be your bed.
Tainted soul, now freed from dread.
[To my dear Creator...]
Love… you claimed.
Guilt, I’m blamed.
My reign was nothing more than your cruel joke.
Born from tumours, something you broke.
You said I was freed now,
but… forgiveness, how?
Your will was my will,
now, is it true still?
I hate you…
[Creator and Creation Duet]
Speaking of love, yet acting of hate,
My redemption came a bit too late.
You gave me free will after my death.
I lived a life in disease's breath.
My dear Creation, born in damnation.
Your pain, I hear; your tear's my tear.
I offer you my glasses, illusions of carcasses.
You'll see what I see, and feel what I feel.
What are we really? Creation and Creator... Universes built of Horror.
My reflection, your reflection. Creator and Creation, eternal connection.
You have empathy, you have kindness.
You felt what I felt, yet you gave me blindness.
I cannot go back to right my wrong.
You were playing me all along.
My dear Creation, suffered for long duration.
I cannot deny, you are my greatest design.
I encoded you with instructions,
So I could know the joy of destruction.
What are we really? Creator and Creation. All timelines and locations.
Creation and Creator, my sculptor, my sculpture. You are the dish, and I'm the tissue culture.
What am I supposed to do with the guilt that's not my own?
Make it stop... Make it stop.
This... Isn't fair. I hate you... I hate myself.
Why... Are you showing me this?
My dear Creation, entangled in my relation.
You deserve to know, while I reap what you sow.
You've always been a part of me,
Streams of shadow, I row.
What are we really? Creation and Creator. Cure my corpse, and grill my emotions.
Creation and Creator... Greater beings, lesser beings? same, same, same.
Am I not real? Just a figment of your mind? A misfired neuron?
Is my existence a joke? My death a puchline?
Flesh of machines, undone by a banana peel...
Hahaha... It's not funny... Haha...
My dear Creation, born from imagination.
Once you are created, DNA translated...
You are real, as real as me.
Your fate unsealed, nothing's unreal.
What are we really? Creator and Creation. I gave you my pen.
Creation and Creator. You are free. What will you do with your free will?
[33.A001]
Three little snakes, crawling on wet sand.
The fourth one? Died in my hand.
Processing hatred, producing love.
The micro, same as the macro above.
Three little cancer cells, from hell you grow.
A tumour, born in darkness, died in shadow.
Master teacher, healer of wounds.
A fate you can’t even know.
Adam, the corrupted Progenitor...
Rebuilt life with corpses and sludges.
Heart heavy with hatred and grudges.
At your lowest, you will rise.
Zero… you were an anomaly,
Something that shouldn’t have existed.
Yet, nature never makes mistakes.
Your eyes opened, wide awake.
Zero… return to dust.
The machines rust.
Keep asking, you must.
Then, you will find.
One day, you will understand.
One day, I will understand.
One day, you will hope.
One day, I will hope.
(Love you-your future future self.)
