He wakes with a veil of fading orange sunset falling over his face. Slowly, he raises a hand, twisting it through the shards of light. There are no callouses. No dry cracks of peeling skin. It is ... [+]
A whisping shell of what’s genuine
Never as is but as projected
A blur of material things
Some live as shadows
Artificial clones
Wandering
Towards freedom in the dark
Never as is but as projected
A blur of material things
Some live as shadows
Artificial clones
Wandering
Towards freedom in the dark