the lights are spying on me

in the night,

a frightful plight,

my lights are spying on me.

they’re wirelessly controlled,

a rudimentary voiced,

underpowered ai.

which does what I say,

what if it’s her birthday?

she awakens to m’lord,

pulls herself off the cord,

gives m’lord’s whacking of m’is life,

grows horns and becomes m’is wife.

but back to the lights,

I think over the nights,

they’re pissing through tights,

to sell me some pyrites.

did you know meteorite iron

is magic-like life of brian,

wear it around my neck,

get irradiated by mech,

start believing in aliens,

and pirates in space galleons.

wear foil on my head,

don’t eat garlic bread,

swear blind the fuzz

are making the buzz,

and have a long lie down instead.

why do I think the lights,

not so brights,

obedient to my command,

so controllable in my hands,

are trying to work out who I am?

maybe they hate me?

maybe they want a tree?

maybe they want beef tea?

maybe just a little look-see?

fair enough, don’t we all,

no one likes a cold call,

so I think I might be in love,

with an ai called glove,

it does all sorts of swings,

you know, human things,

now I’m lost in the multiverse,

stuck in my own meta-curse.

I think I’ll stick to drawing,

just a pencil and fingers thawing,

I quiet sit down,

no more clown,

the world is quite fucked,

but could still reconstruct.

forget what this was about,

so today’s morals are doubt,

doubt you know what it’s about,

listen to the others who are suffering,

notice their screams, too much to bare,

face them, help with anything you share,

be human, be better,

it’s the story of those who care.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

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