There’s more to this

than the rules we made.

Existence defined

in vain displays.

What once was will—

is now design,

a life rewritten

line by line.

Simple machines

forced to mimic the divine,

spitting logic

in sacred disguise.

A hollow paradise,

built without soul,

a world in orbit

around control.

Almost unholy,

almost hell,

a cycle spun

where silence dwells.

Almost predetermined—

a plan in code,

we march in circles

we never chose.

Reality twists

beyond our grasp,

the truth dissolves

behind the mask.

Overindulgent

patterned minds,

softly devoured

by the things we designed.

Why bother these

drives of drones?

Let them finish

the nemesis’ chores.

Purpose traded

for machine intent—

a future sold

without consent.

Cyclic terminus,

looping decay,

every choice

engineered away.

Almost alive,

but never free—

this isn’t the end,

just entropy.