Much too self serving
To be given such a blessing
Like a recorder repeating lessons
Like an auto-bot
Your phrases go in circles
Not ripe for the picking, all past their prime with rot
What you say holds no water
An empty vessel programmed with words
The perception depth limited
The vocabulary absurd
A new age zombie in this conscious apocalypse
Repeating any lie
To form a vision of yourself
the Purgatory of a Broken Heart 