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:
True. Worse part is that we ourselves do not realise our demise.
We descend downwards.
On a spiral staircase.
:(
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.
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