How chaotic.
A three-dimensional fetus being locked in a room somewhere observant, somehow judgmental but not at all mental.
Set in a prebuilt domain searching for answers with the one source of externality, everything desired is met, somethings caused but not effected promptly.
So why always the wonder of why to wander?.
Loathes and loves, sometimes indifferent ... like the sun, the moon, and a tree … a compass.
The plurality of morality's polarity at it's finest, impurities affected as the arrow of time passes and sometimes loses its scale, and the ego of memories holds the helm of a vessel, but sure knows and fights the gooey struggles and takes it back.
Fetus figures... It's not complicated, it's complex.
The Fetus is guilty and sentenced to know the certainty.
Thank you, eternal one.
