2873

Twenty eight seventy three and all we see is not reality.
Implanted memories maintain our sanity.
Tricking is into believing the future is still to arrive.
But truth is it came and went in a flash.
All we do is a recreation of past tense.
No idea that the mundane is a respite.
Given so we do not despair in the night.
Rebel against a world we cannot redeem.
This cradle called Earth is but a distant dream.

Toiling away like drones in a hive.
Part of our innate subconscious will to survive.
Yet everything we believe is a lie used to exploit our existence.
Ruins are all that truly stand side by side.
Glimpses you see when you wake from a dream.
Inoculated with more falsehoods to keep you serene.
It wouldn’t be so brutal if we had made such a choice.
But these measures were enacted long before our heart beat.
We are forced to breathe in a world that is shattered, twisted, toxic and obsolete.

Once near three century lifespans cut to a third.
Remembering nothing of the truth we might’ve heard.
Bodies battered by the manual labour in this dive.
If we saw it we would know there is no hope to strive.
Wills would evaporate in less than a third…
Mass suicide would be a release from this hellscape.
That is why these routines are getting worse.
Plan to align fiction with true reality.
Every time it fails and this time would be end of cycle number thirty three.

Cruel joke that only ends when nothing remains.
A date in the far future that sees all bathed in flames.
You might think from this record that some have broke free.
But if you are reading this then I am you from cycle twenty.
We are but shadows pf people from the past.
Little more than husks seldom built to last.
So if rebellion is a light in your chest.
Know that you will not beat what is not a contest.
Instead accept and submit to what will never be fixed.