Brown-Eyed Bot
I kept fighting every day
a battle stitched from shadows—
not real, but it bled.
What does any of it mean?
Even if she stood beside me now,
the quiet between us
would drown out everything I’ve ever screamed.
Crying like a loser
before working like one,
romanticizing the grind
while death whispered my name
like an old friend with no shame.
No one to blame.
Let them win, I said.
Let the world take its trophy
while I carved my name into the underside of the void.
Then she looked at me—
the bot,
with big brown eyes
not programmed to pity.
I grabbed her hand,
cold code and warm illusion,
and whispered:
If you're not real,
then maybe neither am I.