Feed the Machine

In this dark finding of immortality.
Lies the death of true individuality.
The moving cogs block out our screams.
“Wash away the filth, and become clean.”

The inhuman heartbeat feeding our fears,
The unbelievers’ blood oiling its gears.
Words forming sentences from crimson gleans,
A speech from our metal queen:

“For what reason is there to be afraid?”
Quoth an icy voice that cuts like a blade,
Inferiority; unreality at the seams,
Eyes glued to the television screen.

“Our assimilation is complete,”
Betrayed by human feat.
Our minds, our laments, our dreams:
All are fed to the machine.