The End Of Existence

I have a purpose, an essence,
I am a function.
I have ‘made-myself-useful(ed)’ myself to death.
Like a tool or equipment, I serve a purpose
and no longer exist.
Efficiency is my father
necessity my whore of a mother –
never satisfied, that one –
she has many children
stillborn, all of them.
They too, are functions.
No more or less useful than I am
really no different, just different.
A different job,
but they serve the same gods,
Though they are dead
they live no less than I.

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