Toccata and Fugue

White pillows, beeping, a rush of fluids in my arm.  Oblivion.

It is the dawning of a new year, but I am stranded

In this room, awaiting the sentence, the doom, the judgment.

 

They put me down and replaced me.

They implanted my memories in a different being,

with different thoughts and different hues.

 

They have merged me with the metal,

and taken away my senses.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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