Dreary Servitude

The sound of incessant,

touch of the keyboard,

akin  to the sweet,

harmony of a

stream tumbling down,

became the lullaby

The bright orange flashing,

of the chatterbox gizmo,

made my dreams colorful,

The manuscript filled with rows

and columns uploaded,

in the aperture morphs

itself into armament

of destruction,

the circadian pace


macabrish feature

to the nightmare,

jerking me awake

from it, only to realize

that i wasn’t dreaming,

but living my life,

the life of an,

impassionate ITan


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