chemically fulfilled monkey machine, or something

I love facebook. I hate facebook. I love facebook.

I found this on my computer while looking for something else. Apparently I wrote it a year ago, I don't remember:

My thoughts are trains that run through my head

None of them seem to stop at a station

For long enough to make any sense

And the chaos builds and folds

But it’s not enough to justify

Staying in bed until I’m good and ready

The machine marches on ahead

And I take little pills to make this monkey work

And isn’t that perfection?

My brain mass, your chemical reaction

Am I now perfection?

Smoothed over edges of my mis-creation

We’re all out of this factory life

Little clone men caught in the headlights

And I just don’t know how to be

Anymore like you need

You shine like the sun underground

Your normal precision so easily defined

Seems like the rest of our species know to survive

It takes all of my strength just to get by

How do you reach your perfection?

My brain mass, your chemical reaction

Does this substance induce perfection?

Smoothed over edges of my mis-creation.