Eyes on a screen
and fingers on a keyboard
Mouth in an ear
not necessarily yours

It was just a dream
Some sort of nightmare
that an author imagined
but eyes still stare

Hair standing pricked on goose flesh
but no one is around
Is it paranoia
that has us feeling bound?

A screen and some wires
Someone smoking cigarettes
with a cold cup of coffee
Sharp toes on a web with waiting spinerettes

Always watching keystrokes
with a peculiar curiosity for one's words
Chosen with wild whimsy
but dilegently documented as a personally penned funeral durge

There's no such thing as thin air anymore
No vacuum sending sentences to an empty space
Our words will surely haunt us forever
and everyone of us an operator in cyberspace