My lips are sealed.
But do I not bleed?
Do I not cry?
Do words not course through my varicosed veins?
I once was born predisposed to poetry
but now that human thought is virtually extinct,
I am enraged.

Find me decoded,
bubble wrap
the plastic extensions of myself,
duct tape the sharp edges,
the gods have deigned
there is a form of higher intelligence
being perfected
for plastic wrapped people
that will save time
and serve a more convenient truth,
crawl and choke
words have evolved.

grace notes: a bit of satire or is it? would love to hear your thoughts.

© Connie Song 2023. All Rights Reserved.

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Connie Song

Reader | Writer | Poet | Medium Top Writer | Editor of Purple Ink | Coffee Fanatic | Twitter Connie Song 10.