tearing down the ceiling and walls, packing up every gadget and gizmo, a salty tear escapes my camera eye. my zipping hand mechanically and rhythmically wipes it away. bionic heart glows more brightly than usual; and my 3 black panthers watch it in awe.
i turn to them to inform their minds that we are leaving this place.
my cold hands cup their faces as i gaze into their slitted eyes of gold and emeralds.
in a chaotic, lit up, loud world, we will be a family. ever-moving hands, and alert system makes things. we will eat food from the creations i form.
and when this is not happening, believe you me, kiddo's (my) vocals will soar and she (i) will dance like no one is watching.
but, really, the media is recording every step, and documenting every incriminating move, in order to shoot me down...for being too happy.
rebel, rebel