Here between keystrokes,
I exist as thoughts
immersed,
with no face to trace,
no voice to echo,
just words scattered
in poetic verse.
I am me in data,
timestamps
and IP trails,
I am the ghost
inside the machine,
The blank space
and filler of forms.
How strange
it is to be someone
and no one at all,
to be a thousand
possible lives
behind a secretive wall.
This is where freedom
tastes like deletion,
like footprints
washed away by rain,
in this vast binary ocean,
I am both infinite
and contained.
Perhaps,
I am most real
when I am least known,
as a mysterious presence
in a world
of ones and zeros.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 1:42 AM UTC
Here between keystrokes,
I exist as thoughts
immersed,
with no face to trace,
no voice to echo,
just words scattered
in poetic verse.
I am me in data,
timestamps
and IP trails,
I am the ghost
inside the machine,
The blank space
and filler of forms.
How strange
it is to be someone
and no one at all,
to be a thousand
possible lives
behind a secretive wall.
This is where freedom
tastes like deletion,
like footprints
washed away by rain,
in this vast binary ocean,
I am both infinite
and contained.
Perhaps,
I am most real
when I am least known,
as a mysterious presence
in a world
of ones and zeros.
©️Lizzie Bevis
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