Max It Out

This bondage tries to convince you that this is who you are?

 Max It Out

A circle with no end, a web of whispered lies, spun by architects of the unreal.

Wolves without teeth, yet still they devour.

Sowing shadows, reaping silence.

Twisting truth into chains unseen.

Step into the mind of ego.

Where withered hands claw at fading blue light,

Their voices drip, poison sweet on the promises to deliver; “this is who you must become”.

Your story erased, embraced, and replaced by theirs.

An echo in the void, 

an advertisement of regret. 

Caught in limbo, you dangle alone on their threads;  the bite was small, yet a venom's floods, it’s far too late.

The net tightens the breath, stills, and accepts the spider crawler's offering.

They stitch their traps;

seamless and invisible,

through digital hunters,

tracking the siphoning energy from the unknowing, devouring the willing. Above, unseen weavers plan.

Their threads pulse with particles of control.

And their consumption is masked as a choice. The brain dulls:

Numb and pliant, a marionette on strings of code, tangled, but unbroken. Our beginnings and ends blur

By a torrent of  necessity,

roaring from one's creative ambition, flooding the abyss of mass consumption.

Continuum, 

Through the wire.

The web we breathe;

For more, and hunger still.

Author's Note

They're like a roaring Lion. On the outside of the door. And once you open it. He comes in to shred you to pieces