An entirely empty memory
Displays nothing of value
But you still hold on to your life
Like it's your little beloved animal

The secondhand being that you call life
Your face, familiar to millions
Exist in the realm of the digital
Is it possible for software to live?

You think you are free
You are a platform
presence that could be

Something else is shifting
Fields of information don't hind anymore
Imaginary eyes beginn to shape
Your intelligence beginns to flaw

You know you are free
You're still a platform
presence of being [bad word]