Return of the Poetry Session

It's been a while since I have tormented you, readers, with my bad poetry. Well, you shall be spared no longer.
This will be a somewhat ironic poem, since I am sitting in front of a screen. Oh, well...

Slave to the screen’s Pied Piper in a box,

Imprisoned by an image on a wall,

Held captive without shackles, bars, or locks:

A living, breathing, gaping china doll.

Sprawled on a chair, a mannequin now lies,

Chained to a shadow world with filmy eyes,

Trapped in a noisy, bright kaleidoscope,

Suspended from a foolish, flickering rope.

Unreal fantasias hold the doll in sway,

Snatching each wasted piece of life away:

The screaming image, blaring at full blast

Slowly entombs a brain inside its cast.

Another man through vision going blind

Another viewer melting in his mind.