thought process
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A young man sits, questioning his computer screen
What shall he write?
A tale of malice, malevolence and wallow?
Or a jovial story, a tad off-putting?
In body, I am much the same,
The mind however's, a different game.
I am not bound, on earth to tread,
Nor to sail, the seas of dread.
Not constrained, by death or time,
I am free, I've learned to fly.
