When I was sixteen
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
This made perfect sense for I sought seclusion
From fright in my mind; I was hunting a delusion.
What was wrong and what was right
Could never be far or near or protected with might.

When I was seventeen
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
This made perfect sense for I hated my mind.
Suffocating in a body howling with mistakes scared and lined.
Escape was hollow and deprivation
When a cold numb murdered little sensation.

When I was eighteen
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
Laughter and warmth within and around,
Let us take a photo to capture what was lost and found.
Often I will reminisce about the night it all made sense
But I cannot remember it all, let loathing commence.

When I was nineteen,
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
Now, I did not understand
For I could feel and touch and fall and land
Without sorrow or destruction at what I could not achieve.
Everything that happened, I knew now it was time to leave.

I am twenty six now,
And I remember when I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
Digital memory captured it all
And a scroll reveals the forgotten, the joy and the fall.
I didn’t realise at the time we place our spirits into devices so lean.

So let me tell you;
Guess what?
We are now all just a great ghost
in a pocket machine.