A single pinprick so small it barely displays its mark on the pale white skin,
A drop of blood slowly oozes, stinging, a virus trying to break its way in,
Shooting spasms travelling upwards, sudden jolts of electric current,
Pain appears then fades, though its presense remains apparent.
A simple pigment in the imagination, a memory stains the mind,
Leaving areas cool, and misty, clouded, that truth becomes ever hard to find,
You feel it taunt you, tease you, sense it crawl and dance amongst your bones,
Infectious like an open wound, not yet began to scar, thus being the attack of human clones,
A world built for machines defence, the wool covering oblivious eyes,
This is the backdrop of the matrix, a whole planet tainted with agents lies,
So small you know its always there, hiding the pain redeemed to be true,
A flash of green, a code response, is the only vaguely visable clue..
Should you take the red pill, discover what has plauged you for years?
Or should you knock back the blue pill? return to a fake scenario, writhing with tears?