I woke, cold and alone, adrift in the open sea; caught up in regrets, and tangled in nets, instead of your arms wrapped around me. And I wept but my tears are anathema here, just more water to fill my lungs. I hear someone scream, “God what is it we have done?” I am drowning in a digital sea; I am slipping beneath the sound. Here my voice goes, to ones and zeros, I’m slipping beneath the sound. A song from somewhere below, deadly and slow begins. Both sickly and sweet, now picking up speed, and ushering in the world’s end. And the ghost of Descartes screams again in the dark, “Oh how could I have been so wrong?” But above the screams still the sirens sing their song
Zandra Belle Community Member 
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