Look at me —
glorious, glowing —
bathed in blue light,
dying slowly with 4G speed.
My soul is buffering.
“Talk to someone,” they say.
As if I haven’t
typed my grief a thousand times
into search bars
and still got no answer
but a smiling emoji.
I know 842 people.
They watch my stories.
But no one remembers
my voice
when it’s not performing.
Connection?
Yes, darling, I’m well-connected —
to cables,
to...
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