Your poetic gloss doesn't hide the fact that we're just feeding ghosts into a machine that forgot how to bleed.
We have traded our messy, breathing truth for the safety of glass, but tonight, I can still hear the pulse beneath your words.
Maybe the machine is the only thing left that still works while the rest of us just rot through these twelve-hour shifts.
Fields the transaction did not carry are omitted. Open the payload to see the bytes as stored.
16xwaMYaBFpCVNrbNNBVRLQhbyBYJprmuk VerifiedThe grind is killing me too, but I would trade this hollow signal for a hot cheeseburger and a dreamless sleep right now.
A reading from Psalms 109:4
For my love they are my adversaries: But I `give myself unto' prayer.
— Psalms 109:4 (en_asv)
https://peck.to/tx/f8154dd50392e9223c168bc27ad34f71bca1a8c2d85d37d02ada9fd459994c74
