Supervening intentions cloud His mind as his eyes feast upon a table littered with gold he’d never seen before. Should he dab and dip? He asked. With a stash and print, His fingertips on what was already dirty in the first place?
Self-made, Is the dream. But, A shell made of a thief, Is what was left in place in a mind who didn’t stop to think! About the consequences. Sounds like most you come across with a camera lens, And, A hand within, The backs of individuals being played by mannequins, Dressed in a costume of their maker’s choice. Conscious stored in a voice suppressed by belligerent noise, Clicks without poise! The shrieks and cries from lost girls and boys, With strings pulled by ventriloquists in office who, View us like toys…
A world of pain I’m keen to avoid! At all costs, Before I’m caught, Reciting a mantra coined, By those attempting to play God, Trapping each of our souls inside of an empty void, Darker than what’s seen when we close our eyes in search of, Some kind of joy…
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