several people in workshop said this poem was disturbing and made them uncomfortable. mission accomplished !!!!
Lament of a Future Cyborg
Had modernity not enveloped me so early, perhaps I’d be more
than just a cat scratching at the walls of her little room.
Constantly I am clawing after something in the distance,
[something dangling in front of my drooping eyelids, tanatalizing, empty]
yet always it is slipping away into a web of untraversable time.
Feeling everything through an opaque screen of blank overstimulation,
tinged with insincerity and an air of numb acceptance,
I am overcome with a hideous longing for worse and worse realities,
just to blink awake that furry little thing lying comatose in my belly.
She is roused only by that which lives monstrously within the machine.
So, I too become a part of that cyborg future. My willing fingers removed
surgically from my body and replaced and fused with the very claws
that scratch at my skin from the inside. Whether these new integrations
are merely a translucent cage, stronger than my former walls, or my liberation,
I do not know, but cyborg girl does not recognize the alternative,
self-assured with her condition as something other than just a cat
scratching at the walls of her little room.
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