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.
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