I am clockwork.
I am planned to every motion.
My choices are wrong.
I wish I could have chaos and a path chosen, not welded. I wish I could contort it to my will.
I am tired of impulse.
And the impulse slice, like a metal coat hanger through wet skin.
And I bleed... to control something, uncontrolable.
My sphere controls me.
"I'm like a dog chasing cars, I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it... I just do things."
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