Wires in the walls are no longer a delusion,
now there is information coded in the atmosphere.
Colours change my moods; a visual form of Prozac,
as subtle as a Rorschach test without the ink blots.
When the television talks, I know the voices that I hear
are in my head and fear the programming to follow.
Chased by famous faces, I see the telltale glint of glass
in artificial eyes as I pass and pose for hidden cameras.
Haunted by a hands-free conversation at cross-purpose,
I notice patterns in the chaos, which I record and then -
