Feb 2021
you ache to sing
with human breathiness,
but no matter what
it comes out your burning throat
sounding like an electronic beep
the tears glitch as they fall out of your glassy eyes and crackle into your hands
you feel your atoms being muted, you are unable to show anyone your pain
soon it will be 12:29
and you will hang suspended in glimmering darkness
the clocks miles below you will stop ticking
and if there is not a glitch you will drift up,
up into the pixelated clouds.
your atoms will malfunction and you will power down
1:00 a.m and the remaining atoms, rusted and malfunctioning after centuries of use, copy and paste themselves just like they were programmed to do into a small body
a baby's eyes, a bright neon green just like the grass billowing in the world outside (except the most recent code was wrong, so they stand straight up, as tall and pointed as the remains of the skyscrapers)
blink open for the first time, awash in the colors and sudden coldness of the world
she opens her mouth and cries out a long electronic beep, echoing the machines that transferred her from the darkness.
the atoms swaddle her like they were programmed to do, soft and silky. the glitch will come later, when they tear at the seams and begin to accumulate their thousand-year rust.
In the years to come, she will envy the ones with fresh atoms and clear coding.
she will ask the important questions: on the best days with the soft electronic trill or contemplation,
and on the worst ones,
her remaining emotions struggling to conquer the coding,
the humanity in her pushing through walls and making her head spin
crying and fighting to be her own and not the creator's
her mind will fizzle until it explodes with emotion and her bones will snap (pain wasn't in the programming)
she will hear her voice for one of the only times in her life:
(i am dying and
fizzling away
in the cold and uncaring coding,
in the hollow wiring,
twisting the world into idyllic phrases:
copy. paste. save. delete. )
and this glitch wasn't meant to happen, these words may sparkle in the golden depths of you
and they may float in the burning remnants of your mind
but they were not in the blueprint.
you can feel your feeling slowly dissolving,
flickering, slowly the buzz of the programming will drown every once of your humanity
one by
one
by one
with human breathiness,
but no matter what
it comes out your burning throat
sounding like an electronic beep
the tears glitch as they fall out of your glassy eyes and crackle into your hands
you feel your atoms being muted, you are unable to show anyone your pain
soon it will be 12:29
and you will hang suspended in glimmering darkness
the clocks miles below you will stop ticking
and if there is not a glitch you will drift up,
up into the pixelated clouds.
your atoms will malfunction and you will power down
1:00 a.m and the remaining atoms, rusted and malfunctioning after centuries of use, copy and paste themselves just like they were programmed to do into a small body
a baby's eyes, a bright neon green just like the grass billowing in the world outside (except the most recent code was wrong, so they stand straight up, as tall and pointed as the remains of the skyscrapers)
blink open for the first time, awash in the colors and sudden coldness of the world
she opens her mouth and cries out a long electronic beep, echoing the machines that transferred her from the darkness.
the atoms swaddle her like they were programmed to do, soft and silky. the glitch will come later, when they tear at the seams and begin to accumulate their thousand-year rust.
In the years to come, she will envy the ones with fresh atoms and clear coding.
she will ask the important questions: on the best days with the soft electronic trill or contemplation,
and on the worst ones,
her remaining emotions struggling to conquer the coding,
the humanity in her pushing through walls and making her head spin
crying and fighting to be her own and not the creator's
her mind will fizzle until it explodes with emotion and her bones will snap (pain wasn't in the programming)
she will hear her voice for one of the only times in her life:
(i am dying and
fizzling away
in the cold and uncaring coding,
in the hollow wiring,
twisting the world into idyllic phrases:
copy. paste. save. delete. )
and this glitch wasn't meant to happen, these words may sparkle in the golden depths of you
and they may float in the burning remnants of your mind
but they were not in the blueprint.
you can feel your feeling slowly dissolving,
flickering, slowly the buzz of the programming will drown every once of your humanity
one by
one
by one
a bit of a dystopian poem thingy.
