About Me

May 7, 2010

Banausic bedlam

We create household drones.
The man machine we've become.
We are clones in pretty dresses,
sheltered in cold chambers,
wiped off of our imagination.
Shades of triangles,
marked on our foreheads,
we are the by-products of greed.
We are the perpend of masochism.
The root pleasure,
we seek in oblivion.

Who are we?
Not humans no more.
Who cares?
Put on the mask.
Slide.

3 comments:

Riju said...

True. Worse part is that we ourselves do not realise our demise.

Ausdrucklos said...

We descend downwards.
On a spiral staircase.
:(

rhea chaudhary said...

an early dose of a sunbeam is just a step upward, and the black starry sheet of the night is skipping many betwixt the start n the end.its still nowhere.all is wilderness.yeah...just slide.