Digital Decay

I look into the glass

and see not one, but many—

a thousand faces shifting, pixelated,

all of them mine,

yet none of them whole.

I’ve fed this machine my life,

bit by bit,

and now it spits back a hollow husk

offering validation

plastic smiles that mean nothing.

I sift through these shards of myself,

fingers bleeding on sharp edges,

while my real face rots somewhere behind,

unseen, unfiltered,

forgotten.

They love the mask,

but they don’t know the rot beneath—

the parts I’ve buried to survive

this endless stream of empty faces

and voices too loud to listen.

I am faceless, nameless,

just another flicker in the feed,

another ghost in the stream.

There is no going back—

the real me is buried too deep.