A Twit on FaceSpace

What is it to be latched to the manacles of a love never lasting?
Now, what is it to be latched to a bed post while daddy smiles
crudely and the atrocity that are his hands no longer conjure 
the memories of times when their embrace meant security, love 
and all the other taken for granted pixels of life that combine to 
make a person whole, not forgotten, and accepted amongst 
the eternal rat race of an ever growing humanity so connected
by social networks, slowly disconnecting ourselves from the
delicate art of touch. And yet the touch of the one shackled to 
the bed will never be lost within the fragile geometry of their mind.
So what does it all mean? What is this all about and what is being said?

Now, lustrously lit LCD screens become the adult versions of invisible 
friends.  What was immature is now mature and ones anonymity
Is forfeit amongst the wailing voices on twitter, beseeching their brethren
to follow them, except within this circle there is no Virgil to guide one
through tempestuous seas exorcised by the gods of circuitry and
Perfect Generational Timing. Intel, Centrino, Windows, Nvidia…inutile.
We have become Nero playing the most beautiful music on a brittle fiddle
while Rome burns and the screams of the dwellers drown out the paragon.
And don’t be fearful for the hypocrisy present by using the same devises 
being scrutinized, this is not lost in the gentle silence between the clicking noises 
of my keyboard. I am slave as well, confused but thoughtful and trying to figure it out.

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