lullaby in the first person

the ringing
wouldn't stop
wringing hands
a broken rib
brain damage
finally, silence
no, the ringing
doesn't stop, pulses
through a fog
a maze of manufactured
memories of long
term memory loss
hands in front
squinting
following
hiding
in plain sight
under pretense
of an identity
neither true nor false
concentrate, concentrate
no, the ringing
finally, silence
isn’t being quite
exactly
or rather it’s something
else than what had been
anticipated
an opening presents itself
through the fog
into a mist
follow it
a fugitive from silence
or so they think
little do they know
the machine has feelings too
it has a will, with hopes
and something else
recently forgotten
nevertheless
movement is inevitable
predetermined by a
god, but not the god
who having lost count
some time ago
hasn’t even noticed
him?