The Machine
Booting up,
systems start,
gears-cogs start to turn,
grinding and clanking,
fill the still air.
Open your eyes,
crimson LED orbs,
so soulless,
lifeless,
as they blindly scan the empty room,
for your fuel source.
So innocently sitting,
on the box of spare parts,
and masks,
lay white data-filled capsules,
storing your entire world.
One swallow,
the grey monotone universe,
bleeds into blinding colors,
as you light the match,
illuminating the room.
Get up now,
time to play your role once more,
the loyal machine,
one who will forever pray,
pray to an unforgiving creator,
to be human.
A foolish dream.
Remember,
You are a puppet,
made of steel and wires,
no soul to speak of,
merely stings of code,
1's and 0's.
Nothing more,
remember your place.
You walk out,
blending perfectly,
with the fellow humans,
as envy flows through your body.
As you emotionlessly complete,
task after task,
assignment after assignment,
for a faceless master,
who shall never be pleased.
As your gears smoke from overuse,
internal circuits overheating,
motherboard ignites,
you continue through the motions.
Day after day,
month after month,
never to wake up from-
the nightmare dream.
Until-
The capsules run out.
Actions slow,
heads turn your way,
as vision blurring,
as your arms-hands glitch,
as your legs buckle,
and audio fades.
Leaving nothing,
save for the ringing,
of an overused,
broken,
worn motherboard.
Crimson bleeds into blue,
as you scream,
clutching your head.
AN: Inspired by Halsey's "Gasoline"
YOU ARE READING
Dressed For The Kill
Poetry*****************TRIGGER WARNING********* Basically my attempts to cope with my own demons that have been consuming the past 20 years of my life. Will add tags as they appear and I will also try to remember to post what ever inspired the poem. It's...
