The Machine

I keep the machine at arm’s length.
It is as bad as acid reflux disease.
It is better to stay in bed under the sheets.
The machine is never satiated.
Each passing day it feeds upon us.
I find myself questioning its necessity.
I am looking at my life and I am sad.
I am no longer the man I used to be.
My time feels like it is dwindling down.

It is quite clear the machine is winning.
Little by little it has worn me out.
My soul has disappeared into
the machine’s terrifying hands.