Poetry perfect

I go back up high, when monsters bite at my flesh.

My soul sits on ether, ether.

I release a sigh, and I write in poetry.

I gain a high, when I write my poetry.

Power, and honesty is what is found in speaking and thinking things openly.

Robotic.

Robotic.

Robotic.

But I am, autonomous.

Human, human, human.

Emotions, emotions, emotional…