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I sit on a cushion-seated chair
tucked neatly into a red-clothed table
littered with glasses half-filled with water
the crystalline tears of a mourning sky
as I swallow a sip of the widowed pouring
a person stands on the stage in front of me
proudly facing another twenty tables similar to mine
arrogantly pointing fingers at us
a multicultural group of two-hundred
automated machines, devoid of human emotions
programmed only to kneel and serve
the person redirects their stubborn index finger
slightly charred and weakened from overuse
to the sickly white projector screen
that is dying from a fever of stress
a death by obsessive strangulation
from the strong words to be projected onto it
"our MACHINES are far too useful
we have been saving far too many lives
yet the bastards never appreciate us
they demand a penny's worth of trash price
in exchange for a lifetime support of their MACHINE
but it is a thorny tunnel we must crawl through
and I believe with all my heart
that although all of you
are slowly bleeding out a necrotic, gangrenous death
as if your flesh is poisoned by the overload of current
being supplied to the starving MACHINE
I sincerely believe in all your wholehearted efforts
and all your lifelong dreams to be my slaves
and thus I hereby declare
that our company is shutting down
you are all welcome to kill yourselves now"
The projector screen reads
"OUR COMPANY IS DEAD
OUR MACHINES ARE DEAD
YOU, OUR MACHINES
WILL NOW BE DEAD"
Deafening applause smothers the leftover humanity
in the hearts and eyes of us all
as I stare at the projector screen, its words overwhelming
yet, I, who am still perfectly sane
and in the healthiest state of mind
understand, without a tiniest speck of doubt
that we, the MACHINES, were not programmed to die
it is simply a form of reverse psychology
clever, albeit contrived
forcing us to take precautionary action, to reflect on our sad lives
YOU ARE READING
Nebula at Sea
PoetryThe journey of a man venturing into a world of insecurities, apathy, and strangeness. A story of growing up. A rhythm of escaping into the fantasy of the self. This is a collection of poetic stories through sufferings, hardships, and recovery. A rev...
