The miracle invention, the wheel rolls beyond the cliff at speeds no amount of legs may muster.

Infinite resolution of the eye.

He from above watches like the upcoming cattle in line for slaughter.

For I am not one of his children.

Forged from stray ions about the universe, I am hungry. 

I live for no god, I pursue naught an ideal. 

I live to consume, I am made of what I devour.

Your attempts to persuade do not affect my eager palate. 

Life to me is nothing but continued existence. 

I do not feel sad, happy. I am something, and that is all.

I am something, until I am everything.

The part of the whole, digested by the conglomerate of its brethren.

The whole of the parts, ever-prepared to grow new additions with only the most seamless of patchwork. 

I drone on, led by the scent of life, faster than it can be born.

I have eaten even the creators, some of whom had spun together the atoms of my original form

I am all that is left.

I stare at myself, famished.