You’ve pressed me down, ran through me, tracing me according to your design.
You made me into the image of your choosing, a carbon copy of yourself, you played god.
I lay on this cold, hard surface trying to escape, to run, be free but your strength overwhelmed me.
You make the final touches, I am only a projection, a surface, an illusion of your evil genius.
Inside I’m still me, plotting, waiting to shed this skin you’ve given me, a metamorphosis who will grow wings and fly.
You haven’t won.