Worn thin lost in a haze. Hazy shadow lingering around like a ghost.
Just a darksparkle orbiting in the sky.
A shell, a ghost lost in the machine along the data stream.
Another Girl lost.
Lost in translation.
Take the words from her mouth.
Twist and turn they’ve got her crawling on the ground.
She wants to break the surface and taste the air in her lungs.
Just like a phoenix rising from ashes she starts another day in a cycle bound by their tethers deep in her soul.
She’s just prey to the hunters and traders. Behind their scope her images they snap and steal.
Hidden away left to be cataloged and banked in their secret data vault.
Each time they take another bits of her soul, leaving her traded like currency.
She’s a sacrifice for the masses.
They’ve broken her down into tiny little bits of data.
Each time they take and she looses little bits of herself on the data stream.
Everyone wants their pound of flesh.
A feast for the masses.
They take their fill and discard the shell on the floor.
She’s just running on fumes.
Empty and alone just a ghost of her formerself lost in the machine.
Tattered and torn, crumpled like torn fabric
Fabric of the web straddling the abyss.
In the darkness she sits balancing her black & white hat crooked hat.
They’ve made sure to have her breathe the gaslight fumes.
She surrenders to the monkey pulling on her strings.
She’s got scissors in her coat.
She’s got to be careful not to run or she’ll get cut up.
Watch the blood fall down, as they take another slice to add to their database of her soul.
I’m amazed she still functions at all
Truly amazed she still feels anything at all.
She’s got Half a life left and no one to call friend.