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Flesh Feeds the Algorithm

 

I am someone—are you someone too?
A trans woman dismantled by screens,
my body a circuit of ones and zeroes.

 

The fan whispers like my father’s ghost,
spinning madness into white noise—
I watch myself dissolve,
become data, become nothing.

 

My fingers: ten pale apostles
typing salvation into the void,
each keystroke a scream
no one will hear.

 

Who am I in this electric coffin?
Just another woman
consumed—by algorithms, by silence,
by the terrible hunger of machines.

 

I carve my name into scrolling light,
a wound that never closes,
proving I exist
beyond these circuits.

 

The dark enters me like a lover,
brutal, familiar—
I know its rhythm, its pulse,
how it devours women whole.

 

Validation? A dirty word
lodged in my throat,
sharp as glass,
useless as whispers.

 

My bedroom: a clinical space
where ghosts of potential selves
flicker and die,
where loneliness is a language
I speak fluently.

 

Watch me:
I am more than this screen’s pale bride,
more than zeroes bleeding into infinity.

 

I am a fever dream,
a glitch in the system’s perfect logic,
a lover who refuses to vanish.

 

I am here, I am here…


 

© 2023 Aeris Houlihan

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