"where is your fiber, man?"

"where is your mind? detached at the synapse, not even the words to speak, to write, to will. where is your passion? purged from you like viral cures though not for the benefit of, not this time ’round. a clean slate. a blank chalkboard. a fresh canvas. but the oils aren’t staying. no, not this time. drip and disappear like falling stars. mate, where is your empathy? closed off road map. take to detour. that caved-in cave. what are you feeling, man, if anything at all? even now these are forced fragments that haven’t the mind/manner/fury/love/loss/longing to drive themselves. forced out, man. cold in the snow. in space. walk in the craters of old men and monsters. automated shutdown sequence: initiated. huh, mate? tell me: where is the love?"