Bed of Televisions

I’m stuck within four walls,
I’m lying on my back,
voices vibrate my skin as the channels talk.

Images dance.
Images jump.
Images change.
Images simply bore.

One person moans.
The other groans.
One person complains.
Another informs.
One channel sings.
One scene unfolds.

I’m listening to each screen and dividing my mind between the voices.
There’s a man, a woman, a child, a band, a dog, a wild animal, an idiot, a genius, a joker, a professional all entering my ears, circling my mind with their ideas, their nonsense, their insecurities, their masterpieces.

A box of different gods.
Channels of different beliefs.
Some worship the buttons at their fingertips.
Few let the voices take control.
Some worship at the altar which I lie on.
Few smash the screens and leave me to lie on broken glass and wires.

The talking continues through all hours of the night. I’m lying awake, waiting for a pause.
My eyes are sore but the scenes are all I want to see.
Black frames around moving faces.
Black frames around moving places.

Buttons at my mercy, awaiting my latest offering.
Directions awaiting my orders.
Numbers increase.
Numbers decrease.
Numbers go up.
Numbers go down.
Channels.

The flow continues every night and every day. Endless as I lie awake, a soon-to-be mindless zombie, fed by the voices from the boxes. Brainwashed with the imagines that don’t stop, even behind closed eyelids.
Remaining endless as I lie on my bed of televisions.