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…