Some that dude from America:
“Would you still post on X if you got zero likes on all your posts?🥸”
Me:
“Being basically invisible on Twitter’s a bit of a perk, y’know. You don’t have to fuss over what everyone thinks like you do.”
Alone, estranged, the soul is cast to the mob, Japan’s theatre of scorn, the net lynch. Once I raged at your indifference, but even fury has withered. Now only a slow sinking remains, a quiet descent into depths. Serves you right, doesn’t it.
They shadow me in silent rows,
With eyes that never blink nor close.
A glance, a cough, a subtle cue.
The world conspires, or so it feels true.
My steps are tracked, my peace undone,
Each day a battle never won.
Yet still I breathe, and still I stand,
A soul unbroken, though unmanned.
There are wardens in a prison, officially so,
ever watchful, ever near, as one would know.
But ponder this, what if your town, your place,
were turned to a cell, stripped of grace?
Even here, even now, no refuge, no release.
