My pals from the internet have virtually touched me.
We’ve chatted anonymously about the weather for hours.
I feel so safe behind this firewall of lies and illusions.
The world’s template can only be seen in glimpses.
My blind fingers type without my knowledge,
The gap of the absolute’s cut and paste is beyond me,
The processor behind the cursor taunts me.
There’s nothing to click on – my screen is dark.
I’ve been online my whole life with no hardcopy.
I wore a black cast and a dirty sling.
My malingering mania that I exist, my my my,
Said the online doctor who’s love shy and showing it.
I followed a blind link. My thoughts are popping up.
There’s a witness that isn’t deluded – no source
That isn’t stolen. My friend’s whom I’ve never met,
They’re all from the Bermuda Triangle.
I’ve confessed everything to them.
They’ve all seen me naked – know all my bank numbers.
It’s the interconnectedness of the world that troubles me.
They can trace me back to my root directory.
I cannot see what I cannot see.