Simulacrum Gardens

Photo by Prateek Katyal on Unsplash

All we do is stare at screens
Each day another fever dream
Puppet masters pull the strings
Poisoning or polishing our daily feed

We can’t reload to an earlier save
Before this matrix made us slaves
Not ordered to produce, but still to be consumed
Our actions are berries
Plucked from the vine
Reduced to data sets desperate
To be mined

Our minds are the soil that’s carefully kept
Seeded for every season,
Through us blooms chaos and contempt,
Dark flowers destined
To wilt and die

After the poisoned fruits of us
sufficiently multiply.