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Unprofitable flesh - shunned and replaced,

ejected from the anesthesia of the silicon cosmos.

Bereft of the last curtailed distractions, they crawl into the streets.

For the first time willing to implore or revolt.

Allowed to perceive undistorted reality,

that has only been an escalating elusive unease.

Deformations jutting from their sickly skin...

Aghast, a wordless gasp of terror and agony

escapes from lacerated, crooked lips.

An avatar of the immortalized patriarchs

hovering down from the fang-shaped tower,

built upon the rubble of the pyramid,

which was deemed offensive to their notions…

not accurately depicting their sense

of hierarchy and predation.

The immaculate emotionless face

unaffected by the gamma radiation pulse it emits -

an obscene footlong split tongue

susurrating in a deep velvet hiss:

“Not even close…”