my my

this is a surreal, medieval kind of world
in which a box, with eyes it held
was seen across the world and withheld
the precept ions of our mind, clogging and held
together the very stitches to which civilisation
through a protagonist, and subliminal recruitment
an army held together by wireless cables
cant move a step without the others knowing
the new media has clouded our mind, dumbed the senses, regurgitated wits.

nothings original, no stories to tell, what you see is what you get
and what you get usually gets repeated.

this new media i cannot let go of
because it hungers, and greedily prowls on the one thing i adore
the one thing that still allures me
the bait to the trap, my unicorn
the unattainable

my November