Spending a Lot of Time in the Produce Section?

. . .

He's put a tap upon my phone,
and listens when I'm not at home.
He hears the things I do not say,
Records my thoughts to earn his pay.

. . .

He'll read these words I've left for you,
And then you'll be his target too.
But I'll escape - I know the way,
I'll set my clock to yesterday!

. . .

digitS'
 
Last night I saw, upon the stair
The little man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
Oh how I wish he'd go away.
 

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