Synthetic Souls and Silicon Hearts
The doomsday clock is set 29 seconds to midnight,wax-dipped lips quivered for a fading kissmasked hearts buried in layers,deep and thickin muck and in grief. Out of toner,Out of ink,smiles no longer print lemon-yellow days. Soulless words ringing hollow tones,emanating out of dry throats,bouncing off flimsy convictions,thirsting for meaning. We surf a sea of faces,riddled with galaxy of…











