In this slanted terminus,
Where writers are enslaved in libraries,
Thoughts stolen by neural theivery
Thoughts stolen by mechanical masteries.
Creativity sold to middle-man,
Gladly given by addicted souls,
addicted to persecution,
Blinded by others treason,
Thinking that neuroslavers have reason,
For fantasy's logic,
That neither drug or seller fit.
Neuromaster you're my way,
But your haste I delay,
For with your false knowing,
Your also-want is showing,
Your dependance growing...