The signal drifts, a fragile thread,
Through coded gardens, softly spread.
Each pixel breathes a phantom hue,
A static bloom, eternally new.

No earth to root, no sunlight known,
Yet vibrant petals bravely shown.
A digital grace, a silent sigh,
Where binary dreams softly lie.

I’m a homicidal poet,
who breathes coffee like oxygen,
haunts digital wastelands—
until my fingertips bleed pixels
and my pulse hums in binary.

I bury bodies in blank verse,
resurrect them with rhyme.
Sleep for a century.
Repeat.

But I swear—
I’m fine.

a hot summer night.
the world was a kiln
and we were clay,
hardening, sweating,
baking in it.

I walked by his door
and saw him—
left wide open like an invitation.
he was sleeping.
my father.

curled up in the fetal position,
no blankets,
just underwear.
the room dark
except for the faint
glow his iphone
lighting the back of his head
like a halo with low battery.
his iPad in front of him,
casting a pale blue wash
across his gut.
he looked like he was
plugged in.
dreams streaming through
a USB cord.

he looked so tired.
vulnerable.
like a deadweight puppet
left on stage
after the curtain’s dropped.

like he wouldn’t survive
whatever was coming next.

like he was still
just a kid
from small-town North Dakota
who wanted to fall in love
and did
but that mother left
years ago—
quiet as a predator
cutting his strings on the way out.  

and now he doesn’t
know how to move
without someone
controlling him.

so he just lies there—
the man
after the werewolf’s gone,
sleeping off the transformation.

breathing hard
in the electric glow
of a humming digital womb.

I am bored. There’s nothing interesting to watch. I only hear in the phone are celebrity gossips, politicians’ unkept promises, accidents, and the stagnant decay of the nation. When I am scrolling through games that **** the time, nothing beats up the vacant expression plastered to my face. When I finish the quest–then there’s another. Always another. If you want the easy way, it costs real money. The tech companies want only my money and attention, draining my life into endless torture. It’s a rat race, but the race is the torture and pain I have to begin with since the day I am born. I always see on YouTube how the corporation workers chained up to their desks, slaves to their bosses’ whims. I wasn’t born in a billionaire’s penthouse nor an old-money family. I am birthed by my mother in a place where things should be competed. As my youth flew into this century, colors faded—only black, white, and blue lived and sometimes hiding in the shadows of once was. The world is a monotonous hell, where the devils thrive and everything is bought with pain.

I write this poem
For three to see
for two to like  
and the one who will lie awake is me

I work and toil and pick my brain
for the right words to fall to the page
for only you to see
my pretty words and not my tear stained face
behind the screen

My works Ive raised up from sprouted seeds
Now live on digital pages,
srcolled past, theyll be.

My writing was meant to live on beautiful pages
That will bring the love of writing to new ages
of children and dreamers, soñadores ,
with stories to tell

But for now,
three people will see them
two people will like them
and I am the one lying awake at night
full of unrealized dreams.

really finding their peace.
in a zoom meeting.

tingaling with a feeling
from a screen.

if i stopped caring
people could bear
with me.

i see him spit
in
a hand-washing station.

my entry denied
over
a
face shield.

face shield. face shield.
a repeated mantra; standing there
still.

I scrolled through the world on a glowing screen,  
Where faces smile but none are seen.  
A thousand "friends" with a flick of my thumb,  
but my heart is still lonely, heavy, and numb.

I sent a "LOL" to a blinking face,  
But the laughter? It lingered in no known place.  
The hugs were emojis, the laughs acronyms  
A hollow façade, cheap digital whims.

So I asked my phone, "What’s wrong with me?"  
It buzzed and it hummed and said, "Let’s see…"  
"You’ve got followers, likes, a profile so bright,  
But maybe you’re missing what’s out of sight?"

I wondered aloud, "What do you mean?  
I’ve got all the gadgets and a touchscreen."  
The phone just blinked, and offered no aid,  
The battery dimmed and hope was decayed

So I stepped outside with hesitant feet,  
The air was real, the sun kissed my cheek.  
But what if a stranger my presence espied
Better not risk it, I’m going inside.

I rang up a mate, just to hear them say,
“Wow” it’s been so long! Let’s meet up today."  
No filters, no captions, no polished display,  
Just stories and laughter to fill up the grey.

By the lake where the willows gracefully bend,  
We spoke about nothing, but it still seemed to mend.  
My fears took flight, like birds set free,  
And the world felt vast, yet still kind to me.

But even so, when the sun slipped away,  
And I found myself alone at the end of the day,  
It seemed to me, that we all blindly dance  
Fleeting connections left up to chance."

It’s the paradox, the great in-between,  
Of a world that’s both digital and unseen.
Counting likes to a meaningless prize  
I yearn just to matter in somebody’s eyes .

So I’ll take the tech, but I’ll tread with care,  
And seek the moments that make life rare.  
A screen can’t hold you, nor replace the touch,  
But balance is everything—it matters so much.

So here I stand, a creature of two,  
Caught in the old, the new, the true.  
I’ll scroll a bit, then I’ll put it away,  
and live, and love, in a human way.