Razor Wire Horizons by Never Wm. M. S. Hall (@22May)

I am left to fight alone through bouts of Cassandra Syndrome... visions of people who, for the semblance of fame, like achieving levels in the latest virtual game, tear out their whimpering souls, feeding them, piecemeal, to corporate demons, in order to become The Name of The Hour - in a warped delusion of Multimedia Dreaming... recognized long enough to feel unrecognized moments later.

Children so consumed by oblivion they feel no hint of discomfort as limb and life and spirit are shred between the jaws of The Great Chimaera.

Blinded by digital mirage - swipe right - of being anything - swipe left - except what they were born to be. - hold breath to block reality -

Yet, those few with opened eyes and cherished souls witness the expansions... the evolution of The Great Machine; painted in blood and flesh fed, made of life and fueled by souls...

That Giant Whore in The Bay has taken the Warden's role, and makes a prison - from dreams of freedom.

As she brings that torch down on your head, there is a mocking glint in her eye, that says, "Who - is the flesh peddler, now?"

Unable to look up from you lithium powered screens, you've been conditioned to limit your vision and build walls 'round your fearful hearts.

While your imaginations are restricted by your lack of fortitude, your possibilities are checked by the State's ineptitude. For Legislations of cowardice offer no latitude.

Can you - hear Him laughing, at all you unworthy? "Souls for pennies... Souls for Pennies!" The First Son is taunting you; but His jest flies beyond you.

And all you have to look forward to is the next upgrade - and horizons fenced in by razor wire.