Dye runs through my hair like oil in a river,

polluting, altering, toxifying, multiplying.

The fog seeps in, your vision is obscured.

you try to look beyond it,

you try to find the cure.

I paint my nails real hot,

my brain is starting to rot,

from the sensory overload

of the black screen,

all hail thee.

It tempts me with anaesthetic,

flip the switch off and sit, take your

hands off of the wheel,

switch it to cruise control,

as your eyes take it all in,

as your brain grins and your heart,

aware of the sin, can’t help but spin

the wheel of the algorithm,

the sun rising, the moon falling,

you watch others succeed as you

sit in bed, wondering why you can’t do the same.