Profusely thanking their gods and goddesses
when striking it big
Slinking silently from the table
when losing it all
But ever faithful to their capricious gods
Never ever seeing the ever seeing eye
Or the hidden algorithms
Calculated to lure you again and again
To play and pay for the thrills
That by Chance you're the gods' favoured one.
The Kekropolis you built.
Just thinking about you makes me feel odd.
You always come as a psyop,
implemented and fake.
I scream a thousand voices to you.
Every time i see you, my knees clutch.
You are not for real.
I mustn't speak.
There are others here, on my mind, on my paper.
Leaving behind a ****** trail of despair and sadness.
I won't let it affect me.
I'd scream again if i knew you were here.
Not involved in psyops.
Not connected to cops.
Not handling guys.
Not wearing disguise.
I'd care if it wasn't all artificially implemented,
I'd come hadn't you texted.
The deep state of a messed-up.
Do you ever Google?
I heard they call you "USERS";
I mean, do you care?
Our lives are now viral,
a flush of the toilet,
a death-summoning spiral.
Funnels of sheer torment,
Kirsten Stewarts pretty hair,
...it's like noone's even really there.
All locked in a block of info,
only CIA's aware.
Some weird files to share, locked up in a cloud.
Do these clouds rain on men?
Do they make them run?
Summon a sea of umbrellas beneath?
It's a sea of despair,
and was meant to be fun, worthy of a stare, here and there.
Now all gone.
But to have lives abolished in shame...
Is it a game? A Facebook event?
Do we just pretend?
No way to explain,
Not even a gain.
Here, internet. My contribution. Play your part. It's a data war.
Surveillance is the cornerstone to my dictatorship
Over your life
I hold you firmly with my invader's grip
To create strife
To spread fear among the vigilant citizens
And make you feel like you're not fitting in
It's all part of my devious plan
To trap you in my surveillance van
I've got owls perched in trees
And satellites floating in space
Pictures make the world freeze
So I can see your pretty face
I start to drone on and on
Your indifferent mouth yawns
You spy on the clock
Waiting for me to stop
You stare through me
The way I stare into your house
Hell is 200 degrees
When you find your lovely spouse
She doesn't have my pictures
She hasn't read your scripture
I must've gotten my information wrong
I thought my surveillance was strong
My mistakes rule me with an iron fist
And they throw me in prison
I thought I could live in surveillance bliss
But this isn't the life I envisioned
Happy to hit 100! Thanks everybody for reading my stuff and supporting me.
With faith, You said,
You could help to
Address the problem
On getting colder
You have to write
Note on sudden death
Who is to blame?
Sins of ancient rites?
The last breath?
Behind the Bars
All shouting at you
All pointing at you
Genre: Clinical Abstract
Paranoia is easy to spell.
P is for the police, whose uniforms are tell-tale.
A is for the agents, whose bodies hide blackmail.
R is for the reign, whose sight is always around.
A is for again, whose repetition is always found.
N is for the night, whose darkness hides the purges.
O is for the oppression, whose presence stops urges.
I is for the people, whose existence is for the state.
A is for the actuality, whose reality of power is fate.
Paranoia is queasy to tell.
why are there cameras everywhere I go?
what are they recording?
what are they watching?
why are they watching us?
why are there cameras in every room?
why are they recording everything we do?
why are they watching the things I do?
& when was my debut?*
(be careful, they're watching you too)