A hanging bridge connects the two sides of the monstrous cliff, somewhere in the jungle of concrete and ruins of the long-forgotten city from all coming tomorrows. Unborn babies crave to exist, with deformed bodies and my imaginative, yet crippled uterus. She's dreaming while her body floats in a modified tank, ready to start another war. As flowers bloom and rainbows begin to converge, my desired baby, from a long-lost dream, begins to breakdance. I dig my own grave because nothing I desire will fulfill me as my flip-sided delusions.

When my mind turns bittersweet, I watch hot daddies with their little ones. Maybe I'll learn how to be alive and regret the pain. Flowers of evil and sweet pink clouds bloom in my garden of desire. I daydream about unnatural cravings driven by my synthetic influence of hormone preparations while breastfeeding one of my bitch boys.

In my dreams, you've been my sweet precious one, and when I wake up, I even wonder if you'll ever be in my life. While jumping on a trampoline and watching all my past and future selves walk in a riddle, trying to decipher the ultimate knowledge of what might be. She's waking up; the machines are pumping liquids, sucking up from the sink, rushing through the damaged pipes, dripping up to a climax of watery sounds; the water is slowly sucked up. She's leaving her synthetic womb, impregnated by her desire. Crawling out from the tank, a forgotten laboratory. Weakened by the almost endless sleep of too many changing star constellations.

You are who you are; you will be whatever they read you to be. A voice from all heavens, belighted by grace, no self-deluded grandeur, no falling for blinded gaslighting, just pure and clear love, screaming, "No, create yourself; let me guide you through what the long-forgotten people of tomorrow called purgatory, faced by all human failures like collapsing organs, facing the karma of long-term consuming.

The sun blinds her as she leaves the underground bunker and lab, unable to figure out where she is, alone, facing the sandy breeze scratching her face, dusty, forgotten, lost artifacts of random crap. She's wandering in a desert of nothing but concrete and the most random things you can imagine. The surface is heated, thirsty, and close to collapsing from the closer creeping heat stroke.

Baby fever in the peak of the delirious state, changing perspectives, almost collapsing but keeps forcing herself to stay in control, like in some GHB almost overdosing state, wishing to find salvation, edging and scratching her skin with her artificial biogenetic bimbofied crawls, like an animal in a blood rush.

She knocks out and hits her head on the surface; her skull cracks open, bleeding, her brain is damaged. In the last moments of her conscious recognition of what is happening to her, she begins to see the bright light attracting her, transitioning into an out-of-body experience. She leaves her body and keeps walking; no physical force will stop her; she's truly the chosen one. She stops for a moment, watching her physical empty leftovers from the physical world.

The heat grills her like a steak; her wobbly brain slowly cooks, liquid vaporizes. She's facing the gate of nirvana; all gods are the one god you want them to be; there is no dogma, no split; it just feels like heaven. A ringing sound turns into a composed masterpiece; organs play every string instrument, resonating. A directed masterpiece theatrically, script-written enigma. A quiet, drawn sound turns louder and louder, getting distorted.

The world stands still like her dead body; the bright sky from the two-starred planetary system turns dark and gray; rain falls down on the dead landscape, cooling down the earth, washing away the grief and loss, and the moment of peace. A little humanoid dog hybrid is born, steady and prepared, standing on all fours, with big wide-open eyes, analyzing the newly welcomed world. A new era of the long-dead dream reborn, reshaped, open to write itself, like nature always did and will, however, no matter how much we alter its natural coding.