"glitching" poems
cyber forces glitching,
itching,
scratching,
hatching,
inside… inside…
further deeper,
latching,
onto body…
onto body…
mind,
soul,
body…
cyber forces becoming
transferring,
creating,
hating
the old,
the old.
new cybernetic soul
born modern,
born modern,
progressive process,
tradition’s torn,
torn.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 2:14 PM UTC
they let their sticky humid hands
hold my glitching hologram body
against the scratchy playhouse
walls and drag their clammy
claws where no child should
think to rub all the while
whispering into my vacant ears
how they would beat me and
bite me and cut me and kick me
if anyone were to ever find out
our little game as tapeworm
tears sludged from my sickly
sweet rotting eyesockets and
down my shiny shaking dust
stained cheeks silently over my
cold and closing throat and
when my dad finally ripped the
splintering wooden door across
the sandy shifting floor i was so
pale pink blue i could have been
six hours dead save for my
fracturing porcelain and
plexiglass heart destructive and
bashing and shattering itself
through my frail and brittle
crumbling ribcage whispering to
me how badly my dad would
scream at me for the way we
were playing
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
How would the best user friendly widget
stay that way in a profit incentive?
The physical products escape this unseen
(They're thrown out en masse when profit fades)
The internet’s been a slow fade
from revolutionary layouts and interaction
to the bare minimum you could tolerate
Today most are conditioned not to bat an eye
when the most trusted news sites
are filled with grotesquely glitching ads
that look worse than a 2001 spam virus
Selling sweatshirts with an incomprehensible
automated message containing your last name
Then it switches to threats
the FBI wants to take over my machine
Such is life today
Ignoring what we think we can
Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 11:12 AM UTC
Blessed be the civil war
brewing in the newsfeed
I just hope both teams
have fun
If it’s not our bodies tryna **** us,
It’s confirmation bias
with a gun
Cause we live in a society
stranger than satire
Doomscrollin’ infinity
For the next dumpster fire
If all the world’s a stage
Then my anxiety
is a crisis actor
When all the world’s enraged
I’m screamin’ CLASS WAR
in the theater
Blessed be these antidepressants
With side effects like
suicidal ideation
Heaven left all thoughts and prayers on read
Now thats what I call
getting holy ghosted
Full send to divine abandonment
In a digital sea
of arrogance
Your favorite God is smashing
The laugh reaction
While the body count rises
Achievement unlocked: death to empathy
Is this ******* play about us
Or are we all just NPC?
Cursed with Main Character Syndrome,
Glitching out behind the scenes-
playing the victim
Is the origin of your villain
Cause we live in a society
Stranger than satire
Doomscrollin’ infinity
For the next dumpster fire
Just to tell everyone you’ve been enlightened
Feb 16, 2023
Feb 16, 2023 at 2:07 AM UTC
A mural of faint galaxies
behind my eyelids
vaguely sparkle
like the static of tv -
it isn't darkness
nor is it imagery...
It's nothing
but, what is nothing?
Like bedsheets pulled over
the pupil & iris
staring at a ceiling of
subtly glitching galaxies
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 2:12 PM UTC
we held hands, we stumbled
in tattered coats, we mumbled
in our palms, we held the time
passing shattered windows
in our bob-bobbing boats and
we ran away from the rising sun
now we are running
away from the rising sun
running away from it
on creaky rotting docks
over sneaky sharp rickety rocks
(we) (wanted to see it) (rise forever)
[throbbing throats] [throbbing throats]
-we are the rising sun-
(we are the rising sun )
>lockets lickety locked< and
we grew tired >> we grew tired
(we are the change)
we had thrown away the key <<
(we are the ones)
and __ we had slowed down __
(we have been waiting for)
and ^the sun had sped up /
and that time
oh that time was slipping
between our fingertips dripping
(we are dawning)
(we are dawning)
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
Today I thought about you
As I did yesterday and the day before that
How your skin is like velvet
Hair like burnt caramel
Boy with a kiss like a hand grenade
Boy with a touch like a paper cut
Boy with a voice like a church choir
Boy I fell in love with in 2 weeks
At the age of 14 it was easy to love you
I loved every piece of you
Treated you as if you were the last molecule of oxygen inside of a gas chamber
My love for you was so sweet some would call it cliche
Cupid didn't have an arrow large enough to fit this love
You were the first boy to make my palms wet just by walking into the room
Until I took it too far
Finding myself on a bedroom floor
He loves me... He loves me not
I let you have the remote control to my smile
I realized I was never letting myself cry as much as I needed to
You were the boy who I would spend all day getting ready for
Loving you was the last thing I thought I was good at
Until I started replaying these memories like scatched up DVDs
Broken, glitching flashbacks
Your name engraved in my heart and mind
Your voice being the anthem of my soul
Your smile being my favorite picture
You being my favorite tragedy
Today I thought of you
As I will tomorrow and the day after that
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Space grey minds – made complicated –
These hotel mind-mansion muddled mud-bloods’ migraines, migrate through marble madness in a world where mirrors set a wide mould...
Bouquet of the fitting brain,
these silverfishes, odd souls, under glass mass,
forge their separate ways -
to avid void identities,
paving stone by paving stone, thought by thought,
scar by scar, screen by screen, smelling and selling our spirit...
Like the gold smoke whispered clouds from her serious clown mouth...
and the deep blue sky night turbulent feeling,
We’re stone dragging dreamers,
born gutter of the night,
eyes always feeling...
With roof rows of crimson,
these car attached mannequins,
Wake up where magic meets music -
Strange sheep soft in the glitching hope hearts of these sugar plane crash cities.
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 5:41 PM UTC
i am becoming strange
who is stranger
me or the girl i dont know
sitting next to me
on the bus
my hands shake
as i try to remember
your telephone number
at the corner payphone
i keep on glitching
itching and twitching
and i miss-dial your number
and my quarter is wasted
i slept with a stranger
girl than i remember
but not how you think
it was that she fell down
in the middle of the party
and the glitching and twitching
reminded me of you
so i carried her
and put her
in my spare bedroom
and that was it
when she left
i went back to the payphone
to tell you about it
my my hands were still shaking
and i miss-dialed your number
but it went to your mother
who explained to me again
why you can't pick up
she said you slept
in a nice box downtown
after you got too drunk
and your bike hit a truck
i said that i remember
how you glitched and twitched
how you were hospitalized
for a week or two
and then when you got out
you forgot to call me
she told me that you cant call
anymore
because you sleep
in a nice box downtown
with your grandma and uncle
after she hung up
i went to talk to you
in this nice box downtown
but before i got there
i got too drunk
and my bike hit a truck
and now i can see you
in your nice box downtown
but you still
dont return
my calls
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
They sing from along the path,
lined like torches would, evenly spaced.
A hazy wood surrounds me,
swirling trees and melting hues
of a late summer afternoon,
fiery colors dancing and melding together,
flowing to the next,
cream in a Sunday morning roast.
The colors, the chimes
they illuminate my stumbling journey,
my tottering travel.
I stop and catch a gaping breath,
bent over, panting, and begin to listen.
The wind pushes the trees,
it sounds the chimes colliding ring,
it exists in flux,
rising in singing ascent
and exhaling in a comforting sigh.
Drifting down the path,
I separate and regenerate
With each glitching step forward
my face distorts, rearranges.
What is the source of verse, of thought?
Rehearsal, a precursor who holds us like
a ventriloquist through time, or is it just
a keen ear for your minds own
singing wind chimes?
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
I sense loss and yearning all around
I used to chalk it up as a personal hurdle to jump
or just the feeling of aging while the youth still goes on
Yet I think I this malaise is widespread
Impacting all of us in our glitching global trade
I used to think the issue was there’s just too much now
Too much to watch, listen, and taste
You don’t need the hunt anymore
Don’t need to wait or pay some exorbitant price
I used to feel overstimulated by the streams
and just could not decide
I still feel, it’s not that we want to do the thing,
but we yearn to want to want to do the thing
again
Is that all that’s changed?
Those who are not ready to be creators
will certainly not be ready to be curators
Freed ourselves from DJs and TV programming
but what control have we flailed ourselves into?
Wasting hours a day watching 30 second videos
whose categories are heavily curated
impersonally, just for you
Remember when user preferences worked
and in searches they wouldn’t hide the whole list
of all that was relevant and new?
Jan 29, 2024
Jan 29, 2024 at 5:21 PM UTC
Every bit and every key
Every thing that makes me "me"
Validation via screen
Validation via stream
A proxy heart
And virtual veins
Code information
To my brain
Burn down the walls
Or let me climb
Type truth to form
And shape my mind
As cord's to board
So is root to tree
This light is so bright
That I can't see
Glitching bits and corrupted keys
Validate me or I'll scream
Constitute my myocene
Validation via screen
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 5:42 PM UTC
Brilliant and breathless, bending
language like a gardenia wreath
hanging from the rafters
of a sun-drenched mouth
that could only be mine.
Bullish and breathless, tangling
ellipses, clinging to a simile’s hem until it
trips and rips the thread of thought.
I don’t mean this as a manner of speech–
I speak without manners.
Billowed and breathless, humming
out of its skin and into mine.
Meaning is a feathery, fallible thing,
twisting, writhing, vanishing;
tough to trust, prone to rust,
words swirling and spun,
sea-tossed and salt-stuck
on a foreign tongue.
Beaming and breathless, flirting
with the edge of a rockwall,
a siren call,
more lullaby than warning shot,
more hymn than howl, a voice
that could only be mine.
Belated and breathless, underlining
the good lines, never shaking the bad,
plucking at the precipice, never leaping,
clamoring to be heard but never speaking.
A lot of words, but no poem.
A lot of pinch, but no push.
Graceless and glitching,
mine alone.
Jul 8, 2024
Jul 8, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
She stands—
every few minutes turning abruptly to no object.
Hips pushing forward, shoulders sliding back,
red soled sneakers and plaid flannel slacks
beneath a dramatic black trench coat,
in the grey shadow of a gothic church.
She smokes the grey and blows white,
and scrolls through the neon screen
with her one ungloved hand,
a bun perched stiffly on her scalp, unheeded,
an afterthought, if there was one before.
Her backdrop—the heavy iron fence of a graveyard,
and centuries old glorious stones watch
as she spends her minutes
engrossed
in the luminous green of infinity.
it would feel normal if it was a bus stop,
a grocery line,
a hospital waiting room,
even a lonely bench.
But she stands,
and periodically pivots,
meanders two steps and stands,
and jolts three steps back,
glitching through slow time,
anxious and unresolved—
yet so engrossed.
Finally now she is following the fence out of view, slowly,
and I hope she finds rest.
I feel grateful as the sidewalk carries her now
away from my puzzled gaze
The great stones and I exchange long glances,
and perhaps they are more compassionate than I,
for they seem not phased.
Oh stones, teach me patience, teach me rest.
For you are glorious in endless rest,
and I am still anxious and unresolved.
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
Have you ever had TV static in your brain
That buzz that sounds like a thousand pieces of paper being crumpled into *****
And you wish you could just flush it down the drain
Or at least shove it into the tiniest box and then move it against the walls
But the only way to get rid of static is to change the channel
And we don't have a remote with a guide to our mind
There is no button to delete or hit cancel
And there's no way to run when it's on the inside
You could brave the noise and the web of glitching grey
Or you could simply turn the TV off, and throw it away
If there is no solution but to live with it or die
I wonder what we'll do
Can you see the static in my eyes?
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
It's defective,
My brain, that is
It has a habit to a glitch.
It lies, it spies, it can't commit
To one direct form of dialect.
It has a virus
It has a stitch
I tried to upgrade
But Apple's a *****
It makes my senses
Lag and pitch
A high screeched tones
That splits my lips.
It shakes and buzzes when left on too long
Skips and twitches
Repeating songs.
It makes my body act out without permission.
I flip the bird when it wasn't my intention.
It even has a blue screen of death
When I consume too many alcoholic contents.
It shuts down and freezes and gets hacked into
On occasion.
Changing a password won't fix that situation.
It likes to steal the identities of others.
The clown, the harlot
The concerned mother.
The ***** the snitch
The one who makes you shudder.
It makes the truth into a lie
It's steals the light out of your eyes.
Should I plug it back in
For a little more life?
Or throw some water on it
And let it short circuit fry?
Or let you mess with it
If you have the IT wise?
If you reboot it soon
Maybe you can make it "vroom"
Make it purr and function without a hitch.
What can you do with my cerebral glitch?
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
draw_text(the cold dark)
I'm glitching.
there are parts of me where the code runs but nothing prints.
why cant I remember what I wrote.
Overlap,
Unknown variables,
variable emotions.love undefined
variable emotions.trust undefined
variable thoughts.do_you_care undefined
variable thoughts.self_worth does not exist could not be launched
scr_thoughts.the_cold_dark
if Object(self) = true,
{{
I feel like a faulty copy ripped from someone else's script.
I have a function that lets me scream.
But it wont start.
I have a function that lets me dream.
But it wont start.
My cpu has gone cold while the processor over heats.
I don't know how to get past this last line of code.
I don't know how this code to line get past.
past know to I don't get how..
...
I fear its killing me.
}
if alone = true
repeat
}
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 2:51 AM UTC
acid rain trip
down the blip
of my life.
glitching internally,
gone is the gurney
down down
that rolling rolling
hallway.
won't you let
me stay?
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
What's visibly here is not my soul
My soul is not here as a whole
Feeling as if I was in the 2nd dimension
Or in the 6th dimension
Forever shouting
Forever panicking
Forever crying
Breathing becomes erratic
I'm not being dramatic
I can't find myself!
Burying my face in my hands
Peeling the skin off my face with my hands
Feeling my nerves stinging and tingling
Body is trying to make me stop but all I'm doing is self-punishing
Body is trying to refrain from the limits I'm pushing
Shouting at myself “Who am I?! Where am I?!"
Lights around me dimly lit
Seeing a light in the corner and rushing into it
I keep finding myself all over the place
I feel like a zombie out of place
I feel like a duck that can't keep afloat
Or a unsteady boat
When I get that feeling when everything is a lie
When nothing that makes sense meets my eye
As if I were in Alice in Wonderland
As if everyone were creations made of rubber bands
I don't even know if you're fake or real
I don't even know how to feel over this ordeal
I can't get my soul to fit in the role
I'm placing it on
As if it's trying to act as a permanent con
Endless suffering
Endless buffering
Endless switching
Endless glitching
If I were a cop
I would put the problem to a immediate stop
So I can meet the real you
And I can meet the real me too
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 10:11 PM UTC
This is a story begun
Never ended
Everytime I try
Just shush, just listen
It's all fuzzy, glitching
I can not seem to find my motivation in anything
Unless prompted by a grade
I can pass your course, yet I'll fail my life
I'd dream myself to be something other than a student
If your class didnt take all my time
If I did not spend my nights trying to find a reason why ...
Knowledge makes me want to die
Consume my mind
A few more credits to accredit my worth
Unassisted, a lack of support tore my nature to explore
and gave me the power to put on a wry smile and lie
Mutter, "I'm fine"
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
Demons lurking in the light of day, as well as the dead of night.
Demons living in souls, eating them inside out.
Controlling minds of life to spew out death.
Glitching with the my spiritual eyes opened. They glitch and I see the talking, blinking, singing skills of theirs. The words they spoke walked up in the air in smoke.
Their doom be laid bare in front of them.
The coins and notes they use are like marks on their hands and foreheads too.
When the mark comes. They won't hesitate to take the opportunity to go to hell to their father of lies.
They get puffed up with the smokes and piles of soot and ashes that would soon be burned. Piled up high. Their punishments piled up high.
Their names not written in the book of Life.
Thinking that the father of lies didn't lie that they would be happy and content and satisfied if they just bow down to him...just one time.
Lord, you have shown me how dark the world is.
Lead me into your light.
Save us.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 3:25 AM UTC
Evasive words
Just don't matter anymore
I think my brink is switching
This old mod is glitching
The only room for repair is your brain, because it needs stitching
No, i never had a moment i was not human
I've just learned to bulk up the fat in my skin
And love myself within
You can take your disposable words and put them in the garbage fills where they belong
Because that's what it was all along
Throw vile retorts at me
I'll just deflect them into rubble
It means nothing.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 2:17 AM UTC
i'm everything i already knew that i was. a strong woman, with convictions that wilt like flowers that aren't meant for the 90 degree weeks we've been getting here in april. we sit around and fan ourselves with half thoughts, and you pretend that my sweat is the sweetest elixir to ever pass your lips. you make me sick with the way you look at me, but for a long time i can't stop trying to memorize the exact color of the water or the sky your eyes are. when i finally realize why, i'm taking myself in, dizzied by the likeness between her and i, and my mind, it keeps glitching as you and he run together. i'm confused at first, uncertain, but then i realize this is my subconscious speaking, the universe cross firing my faulty wiring to wake me up. you've given enough to everyone else, and i know you won't stop, but in this way it must end now. find a way to love yourself through the one you choose to love.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 4:29 AM UTC