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Rated: E · Poetry · Technology · #2070321
I hate the idea that technology is everything.
The Machine's Prisoner
That, Machine.
It believes that it is hunting me.
It thinks I will be lured by the same bait with which it shared so many before me.
I'll show that contraption, I'll show it which of us is to be consumed.
That, Machine.
It believes that I am its prisoner.
It believes that it decides who I talk to.
It believes that it decides what I learn.
The machine thinks that it decides where I go and when I arrive and how I travel there.
That machine doesn't realize that I am the warden.
I decide when it receives sustenance.
Every now and then I put the machine in solitary confinement.
I deny it nourishment.
I keep it in the dark.
Its cries soak into the walls while I laugh and thrill in the sun.
That, Machine.
It believes that it pushes it's addictions on me.
It believes that I can't live without it.
I deny it the fix it burns for...
My Money
Tell me how your battery is low, beg me for the power cord and know your master.
C. Evan Thompson




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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2070321