My heart has stopped beating, all that is left is this
curser, slowly flashing on the screen. A rhythmic slow four beat. No blood
flows thru these veins, embalmed with alcoholic fluids, one would think that my
organs wouldn’t be rotting away. Can one call that irony? The length of stay
has exceeded the deductible. A half-life unto itself, it has more activity than
I. And the sky is covered in clouds, neutral grey banality that drags on for
infinite time. I didn’t want to stay, I didn’t want to come back here, I didn’t
want to be pieced back together. Now looking at the scars, somehow, I feel that
they didn’t do it right. Whatever, I guess then that you can call me
complicated and if the curser is the only living pulse, than I am truly the
cursed. Virtual life, virtual human, virtually worthless.
Pulsating curser, pounding, reverberating, damning. Why do
you haunt my psychic and nail me to this reality.
I have a new understanding and sympathy for monsters.
Frankenstein.
"Monsters are such interesting people"
-Buggs Bunny
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