HUMAN

I'm a tourist breathing through a prisoner.
At home when love takes me away.

A creature malfunctioning,
With rusty metal underneath
And a heart pretending to beat.

There are:
Too many messages
In shallow words.
Too many, too many

opinions.

Never asked you,
Never will.

Cracked up humanoid/s
Born porcelain dolls.

I am fed up
With the artists and the peacemakers;
The helpers, the fast-fashion humanoids:

"They have to love you as you are"
No one has to give just because
You have the right to live.

No one has to prove
You don't have to.

Want to make a difference?

The more you think you know,
The more sofisticated propaganda becomes.

Needy-greedy-clingy.
Like me, share me, comment me,
Send me - don't seen me!
I am the righteous!

The rest are just abusing?

Shut up.

Take a punch, take a sip, lay down.
Dance! For fuck's sake.
Walk around without a selfie.
Respect privacy,
Try some intimacy
Without your pixel self.

You can't edit your life,
It's not Photoshop.

Neither scramble the subtitles,
To make polarizing agendas

They are not your truth.

The culture of copy paste must know
That integrating it in your content
Does not mean you own it.

There is no love in the digital era.

There is love to be exposed with,
Known with, admired because of.

Delusional reassurance for cyberpsychosis.

Addicted to information travel,
At the speed of societal collapse.

But you still won't make a difference,
You'll help followers upgrade consumerism.

Exposure means illusions trying to escape
Metaphors while not understanding imagination.

Tired of all the beeping, greeting, asking
The heeey I matter!

The crazy motherfuckers,
Make you regurgitate them
Leave them, silence them;
Because they crawled in your throat,
Spreading like the pandemic.

This century is supplying without offer,
Supplying because everyone is special:
The more extreme; one of a kind,
They treat you to keep treating you,
Forever - Socially, mentally, physically and emotionally.

Eliminate enough facts to obtain #MeToo,
To bring an audience.
There's no such thing as bad publicity,
You're already infecting reality with your infected mind

I'm day-dreaming of unplugging the world
To hear;

...genuine silence...

Probably;
For the first time in my life.

It's like I've been living in a laboratory,
Training with brothers in arms until their batteries ran out.

I started sneaking.
In every blind spot,
With every lucky shot.

I can't stop experimenting,
They want to replace ownership with subscriptions...

I can try;
How does it feel like?
To take them out one by one?

To choose whom knocks my soul out,
To create this moment,
Not re-create to modify
When your whole existence is a lie.
Until fleshy hearts will be replaced, too?

All we knew was that
When we would lose our bodies,
The void was made of music.

The voices foreign, stuck in the brain;
The heart had hurt more, but it made sense.

It made.

You said we were mechanical animals,
How could I dare say, we were merely cannibals?!

I picked up that reality's remains,
After they ended the game.

You said we were mechanical animals
And left like a starving cannibal.
Chewed up by rot;
Serving your heart on a silver platter
Thinking its enough for the whole world,
And the music stopped.

Hungry, hungry,
We couldn't touch|
What does it mean to be human?

Are we even more human in insanity
Than are we in ideals?
What are ideals, if
We don't know what human is?