Rewired
On the power that lives in our pockets
Feeling again, checking the pocket, making sure it's within reach. Do I need another hit? Concerned who might notice (a little bit), but not enough to not obey. Inanimate as an object, yet full of dark power, it takes a form, is a subject. Living within unwanted, yet not one I reject. It beckons, I obey. Poisonous fruit of aimless pleasure, never satisfying, yet desired. pulling, pulling, p u l l i n g, like a child on a sweater, getting my attention, my thoughts rewired. Making me into a machine, ever more input, input, dopamine. Subtle suggestions, covert commands as from a lord, stealing attention from the unseen to the seen. It's a kind of magic, even for those who disbelieve, It's a demonic possession, we accept readily, infiltrating the soul's nous so subtly, soiling the thoughts we ought to conceive, until we just - an automatic machine - obey.