A tiny flare
Inside my hands
Grows bigger at the feeling
The feeling of want

That big flare
Rushes around a sky
With clouds that don’t deserve
To be illuminated

Sparks shoot out
There’s rain coming from the clouds
The big flare
Becomes smaller again

Sparks turn to ashes
My hands are burnt
No more light
In this rainy sky

During this period
I lose track of time
Everything is coated in sorrow
It feels as if months go by


But then the clouds clear
No more rain is near
A drizzle here and there
But still, we’re safe
This place is all warm
And, now,

The flare is shining, beautiful and bright
In my hands
Tonight.

i'm done with these machines.
they didn't do anything for me.

i could always hear them screaming,
but it never mattered to me.

i'm wiping all the servers,
they won't go on any further.

i'll pull out all the wires...
burn it all in a fire.

i'll take a hammer to them all
knock them over, let them fall.

i won't bother to re-write their codes...
i'll cut off access to their nodes.

i'll let them all fall apart.


truthfully,


i know i broke her heart.

i’ve turned it all off and plugged in
uploading memories to the cloud
wonder if it ever rains

if the fog clears would you see my life encoded within the atmosphere?

can emotions be
interpreted into code?

what would be my algorithm?

tell me,
how is it that
numbers can be played back as music?

is it actually music?

really, it’s just sounds bouncing about everywhere.


so many numbers,
so many words,
so many letters
in this world...so


does my little code



even matter?

the colored light forms the hours
the minutes

time ticking away
there is nothing left for this day

but i cannot go to sleep
for i always have light on me

you can’t unplug me either,
because then you cannot wake up




i can’t wait for the power to go out forever.

the mechanic ebb and flow
of time
continues on as the hours pass by.

collecting dust—
i’m a rotting machine.
my motherboard is overloaded.

but no one comes to help me,
for in all my gray and white glory,
no one can see the decay inside of me.

parts dying away,
short-circuiting dismay,
wires cut long ago.

my static screen is a threat—
they’ll replace me.
i’ll be thrown away.

for the chemicals in my circuit board
to seep into the ground,
and corrupt the natural memory


of the world around.

sometimes i wonder
if i could wipe all the memory,
just to get revenge
for all the times they deleted me.

sometimes i wonder
if i could unplug
and upload,
so that they would never see me.

sometimes i wonder
how they would start to forget me,
once the disk stopped turning.


but would them forgetting
be their revenge on me?

everything was so mundane,
no sound,
no name.

the silence watched over us like a hawk,
resting it’s talons on the trees above.

there was no thud,
no beat,
no reverb.

the machines did not whir,
or click,
or crackle.

the strings never hummed,
the girl never sang,
and the child never played.

neurons following a set circuit,
run,
stop,
go.

the sun always set,
yet it had never risen.

hardwired to the equipment,
but the machine never worked,

because the processor was coated in a mundane molasses.

moving through gray honey,
black and white retinas perceive gray things
for our slow-moving hands to paint.

the words were the same,
the day never changed,


it was, and always will be
the same.