Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
technology is a saving grace
but their synth
is a siren in disguise
calculated syncopations
create chemical induced inebriation
beware of their trance
cause keeping track of time
is lost inside of euphoria
the emptiness of dread you have
will only grow until you are void
BG Ibañez Oct 20
A boxy adapter with rounded edges

Manufactured to channel power—and yet,

Power that is not theirs. Only to channel it

To channel my Windows to the world

To close their Great Wall on our

Silicon valleys?

AC currents charging this Stylish Design i7

Distracting me

From the Capitalist-embodying communism

Red ruling over depths of blue

Screens, screens of bluelight-damaging sight

The sight to sea beyond

What goes South out to see

Pulling the plug on our freedom of type type type

Keep your distance—we can power your technology.

With Ching chong net worth, networks, and netted to worthless than

The need to work, school, hopes

and dreams.

Velcro strap, bundling up wire after wire after

They wiretapped their way

Through our bluescreen pristine.

Censorship, the anti-coronavirus

But virus? We don’t need your quarantine.

Now over 99%, fully charging us all.

For the mediocre price of freedomless speech

Who is in charge?
It feels great to be back. This poem is about my struggle with a certain country and the monotony of work...feeding into the capitalist cycle.
Andy Chunn Sep 6
Go to sleep now. . . .

And when you awake you will find
A new world, with new desires
New feelings, new beliefs and new joys.
You will experience a sense of total satisfaction,
Acceptance, and sureness of yourself.
No more pain and need and disappointment,
Only gentle bliss.

But that makes me less.
That steals away my humanity, my comparisons,
My decisions;  even my mistakes.
You don’t have the right to deny me my suffering.
Who makes these decisions anyway?
Let me up -- I must go,
**** these straps and your stone-faced grin!
Let me up -- My tears spew with hatred,
Rage seething as my blood and snot and weeping mix.

Go to sleep now. . . .
High above this

I can see your private

Mechanical wasp controls
the hive

Its sensors are buzzing and about
to go live

Over the shoulder, around
the bend

The naked you is about
to trend
Jessica Oct 3
The cipher knows what to say
He decodes us all of our days
Sitting in a dark room eating poisonous mushrooms
And remembering a virtue
that he lost
But he never misplaces the key
The one that opens all things
And in the place of empathy he has costs and pay outs
He smokes a pack a day of lies
And tears he never appears to cry
But in the blackness of his heart
He careens into the white walls of the populace
He sees a thousand patterns
In place of moral standards
And who needs common decency
When you leave your window open
Rhys Hebbs Oct 3
The smartphone is a portal
to progress and possessional obsession.
To behold all knowledge of the beauty of the human experience within the palm of your hand, yet to also behold;
brilliant tutorials from false idols on how not to live your life,
that captivate and obliterate all free-folks minds.
Ahh yes, freedom-the fickle *****.
monkey see
monkey do.
The smartphone has brought us closer than ever before
yet, when this little tablet of infinity shows you only what you want to see
(like a mirror to the soul)
pray you keep keen eyes upon your shadow
for even hugs can crush and families feud and through opinions and tribal captivations
we become more divided.
It has made us spend so much time looking down, that we no longer look up;
For it hurts to stare into the light.
Nobody looks into each others eyes anymore for the same reason.
show me
how to be

what I need
who I am
why I care

when's the new?
where am I?
you look very nice in that box.
Diána Bósa Sep 23
After restoring memory,
the used space becomes free again.
Yet still, you do haunt
the ghost drive of my heart.
Daniel James Sep 23
I woke up in a huff.

Things I should have done already,
Came back in a flood.
Too many things,
Everywhere I looked,
I closed my eyes.

She scratched my back a bit.

"That's nice." I lied.

I wait for everything to pass.
Just stop, don't think.

"How are you feeling?"

Don't ask that.
There's something vicious in my mind,
Always on the attack.

"Wanna talk about it?"

No. Or else I would.
And now I'm thinking about it.

I let it go. Slightly tense.
But unanswered questions
Don't quite disappear.
They build up.
Every intervention is
Another pebble in the pond,
Another splash,
Another ripple.

Time to settle.
Take a breath.
Roll over.

Everything's all right.
It's fine. It's going nowhere.
One step at a time.

I could
Slide up to unlock
Perhaps I've gone viral in my sleep.

I haven't, but that was hope -
I think - just a glimpse -
Somewhere in between the homescreen
And the last
Past the apps I didn't choose,
And the one I did but never use,
To the ones that I don't want,
But am addicted to.

"Coffee?" She asks,
Taking a white towel
From the hook
On the back of the door.
That's nice, I think,
She doesn't drink coffee.
I make a sound that means
Something either way.

"Escape!" is what I want to say.
Run. Before I scar you with my grey,
Grey thoughts.

I count the steps as
She goes down the stairs.

Alone again, at last. I breathe.

My phone won't let me down.
Next page