Fueled- by: unknown forgotten

This world is run by a machine
A machine of mass consumption
A machine that mass produces
A machine that controls our decisions
What we believe
What we perceive
A machine that factors out improbability
A machine that fills us with perception
A machine that makes us love what we hate
Like a bottle of whiskey, then rum, then whiskey
Well I haven't puked yet
So let me be

A body crumples up like disease
Fetal position upon the cold tile floor
I imagine it's worse than I dream

Machine
Well predetermined
It almost feels like it should be
But so wrong it hurts and ails me