Being real
Drink me, eat me up whole with not so much as a burp to mark my passing. Words strung like coloured lanterns mark the wanderings of a soul, most unremarkable of things; not bright and shiny, making noise, collecting oohs and aahs of envy from the neighbours. Just something to be glanced at then tucked away under the old newspapers set for discard.I dance invisible in cyberspace, all stretched and twisted in the ether that enfolds and carries me aloft, around, across the vast and massy spaces I cannot inhabit for a moment, displaced and shifted by the tidal surge of input.
Don't speak to me, don't fingerprint my soul and coax me forward just to throw me back, a fish too small too young too old for eating.Too far away for loving. Sad now, while acid tears etch memory on downcast cheeks as eyelids droop. For a moment I thought I was real.