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We are the poem 

that never started.

Our meters died

long before the words were uttered.

 

We are the once upon a time

to a fairytale that too soon died.

Our story never came to be,

we started at goodbye.
 

We are a sad song.

A requiem of sorts.

A melody of heartache.

A ballad of empty notes.

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These flickering stars

are burnt scars in your velvet

skin of space and black.

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Packet loss

Touch my shoulders or stroke my hair — if just to let me know that you are real.

My world has dissolved into an endless stream of data that flickers in and out of existence when the wireless network congests. Everything is binary: every friend, every conversation. Human interaction has been replaced by the assumption that the bits making up my life will not switch off to be another null byte, barely readable in memory. My world disappears when the power goes out, and running barefoot through a thunderstorm loses its value when you have no one to tell.

I have always walked the bleeding edge — the callouses on the soles of my feet dulling all but the deepest cuts — but packet loss is much more disturbing when broken transfers leave behind a life in tatters. Entrenched in ephemeral relationships and tangled in wires that do not exist, I realise that absence from this world would be noted most by those who cannot be sure if I existed at all.

Touch my shoulders or stroke my hair — if just to let me know that you are real. But I do not hold my breath, I would have turned blue long since.

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Confusingly simple

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A future

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Mapped Skin

He felt lost 
so he carved these wounds
in his chest, his arms, his thighs
to draw a map, 
to search, to find.

With rusty nails
and razor blades,
he scarred his skin
with roads and signs.

Ever he wandered,
further he strayed;
until one day, an exit appeared.
“Finally”, he told himself;
he pulled the trigger
and found his piece.

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Equal: A Speech

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Inanimate objects

Blessed are we who get to sense —
To feel the ambience of sentience

The sights
The scents
The tastes and sounds so dense 
They make filtered ignorance our defence

But what of those objects who cannot see?
On the brink — cannot think —
Have no sense of "me"?

Imagine
Try fathom — if just for a thrill —
That inanimate did animate with sentient will

If walls could talk
Or amenities squawk 
Your life would be full of diversion
You could no more ignore these things that implore you 
Through monologues read in first person ...

 "My life is to serve you
 Sometimes unnerve you 
 But you don't swerve from the curb to me like you use to do 
 Stuck on this mooring 
 It's always so boring and my life'd be fruitless — useless —
 If not for that one thing I'm adoring 
 If it's correspondence you seek 
 You know longer peek at me 
  — once a week if I'm lucky — 
 All of your phonics are now electronic
 Leaving me bringing ills; 
 Delivering bills or junk mail that soon spills from the bins that it fills 
 I'd feel so much better 
 If just one letter not from a debtor 
  — from maybe a friend or a jet-setter —
 Would fill my emptiness and bring you happiness; 
 It may make you check me more and not regret it 
 I don't mean to offend — it's true — 
 I've got this job to do
 And one day I'll not be needed and won't be here for you
 Just ...
 Once a day check the clocks
 Mailman been?
 Turn the locks, I could hold pleasant shocks.

      Love —  your mailbox"

...

 "Face scarred
 Life's hard
 Emotions charred; 
 Not much to warm the heart from my greeting card 
 Each time you use me it's to abuse me 
  — slices, cuts; they all confuse me 
 Uncooked meat
 Something sweet 
 I see it it all as you prepare to eat 
 I sit in silent resignation
 When food's in need of separation 
 You slice and dice in preparation
 — I just pray for variation 
 My life
 Your knife
 Your knife, my life — constant strife! 
 You know I've uses less unnerving 
 I'm flat and large enough for serving 
 On my face could make a fine display 
 If just once I was used this way
 But you never think to risk it 
 I'm never, ever used for biscuits 
 Your relentless chopping 
 Unstopping 
 — then it's to the sink for mopping 
 And into the drawer until you pull me out for more; 
 Just like before  
 I'm scored — so scored —
 I don't want raise discord
 But I have ambition
 It's my mission to be like the platters and the trays
 To be used in more ways one of these days 

 Can you just once put down that sword?
 And maybe — if you can afford —  
 Serve food from me?

      Love — your chopping board"

...
 
 "My job is one not many envy
 But I just sigh and be the best I can be 
 You see? 
 It's your machinery 
 You've got to pee
 And social rules say:
 'You pee where none can see.'
 — none can see but me 
 I know but don't tell
 I have no nose so can't smell, 
 But it's living hell some spells
 — and I pray for the days you eat well!  
 Oh!
 The things I've seen! 
 I'm a simple machine 
 I like to be clean
 But it's obscene
 And a little mean what do what you do to this old latrine! 
 If it's yellow let it mellow? 
 Who came up that?! 
 ... "Not this fellow!" I bellow 
 If I had a hand with which I could rush 
 I'd reach up and give myself a flush 
 My mouth it sours
 I've no mobile powers
 And have to gargle that for hours! 
 I love it when your friends are 'round 
 Or your parents in from out of town
 Then you scrub me
 And rub me; 
 You give some love to me 
 Shine me up nice and bright, 
 Get my porcelain gleaming white 
 Sure
 The toilet brush, he lives in fear
 But he only gets used twice a year!

 I guess what I'm saying is: 
 Keep using me to do your biz 
 But this thing we have?
 We're close, don't spoil it
 Take the time to clean
        — your toilet
"

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Looking to the sky

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Zzz

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