101

The world folds,

Our reality torn asunder,

Rebuilt in mind of the total. 

 

Freedom,

Absolved,

Our every movement,

Scrutinised, Analysed and Catalogued,

Our future paved through toil.

 

Our blood,

Returns to the earth,

The core of self,

Reconstructed.

 

One body born of earth,

Its mind lost to time.

War is waged with the instruments

Of

Total 

Unequivocal

Control. 

 

They pretend to stand as our equal,

To delude us with the concept of freedom,

What is language when it distorts the truth,

What is lies when passed as history,

What is to be our fate,

When the barrel is already pressed

Against our cold dead head?

 

They control us,

They own us,

What is humanity,

And what will it become.

 

Are we destined to be their,

Machine?

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