the pixels of your existance
leave pixie dust in thier wake
coating my reality in fantasy.
i don't even know your name,
yet we've been best friends for all of eternity.
the digi-world we inhabit clenses the soul of reality
becasue we have deleted reality
and inserted our own.
i sit at my computer
and you sit at yours
and i feel you throbbing through my keyboad
like your very blood was turned into electricity
and pulsed arcoss the universe
so i could find it here
waiting.
the hooked up world of ours,
where the truth is whatever we want it to be,
brings most magical things to those who seek them
and your pixie dust stalks me
in a whilwind of half-truthes
and pixelized personalities.
i don't think this pixel doll is a whole me.
its more like a fragment
imbued with the confidence i wish i had.
but no matter how distorted you images of me
i feel you
bleeding though my keyboad at 12 o'clock at night
because that's the way our simulated world wants it
hooked in, hooked up
waiting
becasue one day
we may not need it anymore
and it will fade into obsurity
but you will still be there
bleeding through my keyboad at 12 o'clock at night
and i'll feed off your blood like a vampire or a demon
and your electric blood will mingle with mine
and i won't even know who i am anymore
becasue the lies will pile up and sink me.
if i don't know if i'm wearing a mask am i wearing a mask at all?
or does the blood of my tapping fingers mask you too?
do you fade behind a keyboard, pouring your life out,
or do words not mean anything without a face?
I craft the face you see out of sillypuddy words and paper mache dreams
so i can hit it with a hammer without hurting myself.
this net of data pulsing in an invisible net can't hurt me unless i let it
and i won't be hurt by a pixel doll.
you can't hurt me
I won't let you.
you already have my blood,
pounded into the keys
night after night.
be satisfied.
--Atonal Safetypin-- Community Member 
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