In my darkened room, I am visited by death daily.
Reminding me of my place in the shadows of the machine.
In my room, and in my life I have been one person.
But in the clutches of the machine, I am several people at once.
Surely one of them, innocent.
I beg them to let my mother at its controls, let the one who gave life take it away.
I ponder the meaning of my destruction, and think that I am a piece of fate.
A set black mark on humanity, birthed from a saint.
I hear them being lulled to sleep, as injections take place.
The scariness is that it’s so peaceful, this casting out of evil.
I beg of you, to look upon me in my demise, look upon the seat of evil.
See my fingerprint on humanities soul.
Learn to pry loose those fingers, and to be free from the gaze of one who sits in the shadow of the machine.