Awaken

I find myself,
as if awoken from,
a dream of gilded,
lamps and golden mirrors.

There is steel found here,
this desert,
this sandstormed reality,
of space and time.

The gilded dream is,
programmed, conditioned –
all constructed,
for you.

Only my real ones smell of copper and
cordite; gunpowder and blood.

Awakened,
the colors are a mere shade,
of what I know they should be,
you see, that’s the way…
the way they conditioned,
me.

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