This place is a desert for the mind

Devoid of emotion and barren of thought

No real thought, at least

It’s no surprise

Most minds here have long since atrophied from lack of use

They wait in flatline for the next rushing jolt of synthetic stimulation

The real world can’t compare, even if it were allowed to

Contemplating the real world leads to seeing the world for what it is, a prison

A cell for the mind, body and soul

All my life I’ve been a prisoner

Cowering at the idea that I might be capable of unique thought

Terrified of what my own instincts might lead to

So how could I blame them?

But it hasn’t always been this way

I’ve heard rumours

Filtered, distant, faded

I seek to know the truth