#pixels
We fed on noise until it rotted thought,
Our gods were screens that never looked away;
We crowned our ruin, pixel-wrapped and bought,
Then begged for meaning as it all bled to gray.
May 4
May 4, 2026 at 9:04 PM UTC
What do you drink to get the purple out of my tongue? What do you take to forget? The picture
of white lady on the mirror chanting ****** mary. The video of being spanked. The layout of the patterns. It is all made into a trail. Wishing to cloak, I thought it worked but it was only a blanket. The blinking lights of the window. It manages to ***** me and remind me of competition in traffic. The list. Lists. Numbered. Keep scrolling. Will it affect my life?
Needing to fit the box of a ten-year old, I sleep. Then, I post. That was not myself. How did this whole page about me belongs to someone else? I never drift before. Why, I wonder. Here comes the businesses. The banquets. Watching a flute get Tarzan'd by a piece of rope hanged across the room. Out of the blue, I found myself touring with a foreigner. What does he want from me? Is it wrong to think this way? He only asked me where I live and how I am. I stop. I feel the chills burning through my hands to fingers. The bones get cold, but do not when plugged by nerves.
I-I'm addicted? I need to sleep more. It's healthy, they say. It's fun.
When was the last time I had fun?
The more I see the light, the more I hate it. I bring the shutters down. Relaxing. Freeing. Pink flower keep falling. Peach flower keep shimmering. How come I never thought of it before? Now back to sleep. Wait, I can't sleep anymore. But everything's so festive. Are the photos not alive? But they frequently chatter. To me. And you---no me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Branded into these pixels of prizes and sporks full of dramatic dressings. What is meaning again? I kick the blanket out of the bed. I threw my pillows on the other side. It's hot. Everything's so hot. My air conditoner is on max---what's happening?? No, sleep!
It does not take long for me to gasp for air. I keep denying it but it is always in the back of my mind.
The only answer is to get out.
I try by slowly lifting my legs and down to the floor. Do I really? Now? This is the only answer. I repeat thrice. I'm getting old.
A wind caresses my cheek. I forgot I was even in a house.
Dream's over.
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 6:05 AM UTC
Pixels seem glue
Every one of them watching you
Brighter than light
Is the screen that is on at night
Blue is the reflection on your eyes
Are you looking in empty skies?
Unwilling to stop because it is
The neverending screen that you will miss
It was once not here, not there
Now it is everywhere
But where are you, where are you really?
Everyone knows, except for you
That is what your screen will do to you
©SEHO | http://www.seho.site
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
A portal to another world,
glass so thick that I'm unsure I'll ever pass through.
There you dwell, constant and incredible,
so close to me,
so far from you.
This window, often changing,
goes with me on my journeys.
In size and shape it varies-
but you remain
steadfast,
insane,
beautiful.
Still, what I wouldn't give to pass through
that teasing threshold
and into your warm and waiting arms.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC
So, here I am back in retail
after thirty years of I.T.
They sat me down at a puter
training, they called CBT's
The whole day staring at pixels
answering silly questions and queries
I thought I retired from this venue
so now I've come up with this theory
No matter what we do
no matter how hard we shirk the chains
everything runs in circles
what goes around comes round
again
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
A million little pixels...
that’s all that’s left of you
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
my mum used to joke
that my eyes would turn square
if i looked at pixels too long.
i remember the scare
that my pupils would bend
into inky black stamps,
and my retinas bleached
from the machinery glow.
that i would wander the streets
only for children to point
and scream
while their own mothers tutted
'you still want that playstation
for christmas?'
now i'm grown up
and that vision has died,
as the streets are all littered
with others, square-eyed.
i can imagine their
xylophone skeletons as
their fingers tap fast
on the tiny blue screens;
it's no wonder we aren't
very good with
eye contact.
so
i'm sorry mum,
we've all been entrapped
in this pixellated blur
of technological time lapse.
and i guess all these
square pegs can't fit
into the round holes
that they used to be,
in a world that we cannot
remember.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Sometimes when you look at something hard
enough you can see its pixels,
when you spend to long focused and color starts to fade
and light becomes a blending tool.
Looking but not seeing.
When shape defines what you see,
and color is a first thought,
... and you've seen everything, or nothing.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
Staring at these pixels,
words
and images
On my screen
It's cracked now
Just a little damaged
Been that way for a while
Kinda like my heart
But I continue to read and write
All day long
Waiting to see your smile
Waiting to get that one message...
I love you
It will come
Like your words always do
I may have to wait
Waiting...
Waiting......
Oh! How much I hate to wait!
I know I'll get the message
Soon enough
Until then I'll wear this smile
Staying strong
Acting tough
My particular favorite is...
***Hey babe, how's your day?
I know it's been awhile
But can I please
Just see you smile?***
Cause you know how I love to rhyme,
And although you're not a poet
You still try and that's more than fine!
Cause then you say...
I'm a poet and didn't know it!
Every time!
Staring at this cracked screen
Is what gets me through my day
Just like fixing
My cracked heart
Is what gets you through
You don't have to wait very long
To see
I love you too.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
you?
made of pixels?
hah, if i wanted pixels i would have played nintendo 64 with my neighbour down the street and angrily whispered "h-e-double hockey sticks" under my breath as one of my pixelated hearts faded away.
you are anything but intangible; i can feel your pulse across two countries.
our hearts are undeniably made of flesh.
i know that word grosses you out,
but the blood pumping, orifice-filled organs in our chests constantly beat with the ferocity of 109 percussionists drumming on the queen's birthday.
hearts are not meant for beautification; one cannot get a cosmetic surgery on their heart to impress the girl next door.
it's up to you to pair with your just-as-ugly brain to prove how beautiful love can be.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC