software echoes

a poem about disillusionment, coming-of-age in a digital society and coming to terms with a new 'you'

i am not breathing, just
processing air
a spectral algorithm
behind glass eyes

my moon moves, along a string
a satellite
transmitting nothing
i care to receive

my father's ghost hunts, haunts
through static, his voice pixelated
fragmented 
across screens

i am disappearing, in high definition
my atoms are scattered
mourning comes, electric 
and cold, the sky a blue window

paranoia blooms 
like hothouse flowers 
in the artificial light, they smile 
with teeth, perfect machines

i swallow pills of faded nostalgia
while the world hums
a frequency, just beyond 
what i can bear to hear