Flowers will bloom despite my poker face.
This is not good. I'm not mechanical.
The flavors will flush me. There's no disguising.
I can't travel incognito this time. Too many lotions.
Reverend Bayes smiles somewhere. High-fives former opponents.
-- the malaise is invariant to such notions, anyway.
I must bid farewell to the island of givens.
Almost a textbook case of inevitability, no anchovies.
My flammable joints can't make through the new motions
the kids scratch my tentacles. I must leave the place free of tokens
Somewhere deep beneath this ocean the face of eternal sleep laughs
-- whether it was meant to work this way or not, it is now predestined.
The doctor in charge of approvals checks the shunts.
(Everything hinges on passing this trial. I do not take it lightly.)
The cool air seeps through my throat. I am accepting and serene.
-- it is all really for the best. It is time.