we all desire to feel 

       alive

living in a world

of endless lines

on a blank screen

of ones and zeros

and ones

and zeroes

hoping

that one day

we’ll feel 

       alive

drunk on

the rush of 

       living

in a world 

of our own

design

not the one

colored 

green

and blue

not the one

that bleeds

not the one

that cries

not the one

that yearns

not the one

that mourns

not the one that 

       lives

a thousand stories

not the one 

that dies 

a little

each day

but the one 

made up 

of ones 

and zeros

and ones

and zeroes

of endless lines

on a blank screen

seeking to imitate

that which is

       alive

a world of 

black and white

of endless code

with no sun 

no moon

no sea

no sky

in which we

are no longer

flesh

and

blood

in which we

do not bleed 

and cannot cry 

and have nothing to yearn for and nothing to mourn and we cannot take in a breath of morning air or feel the breeze upon our faces or the agonizing pain of failure or heart-racing anxiety or numbing fear or blinding hatred or infinite uncertainty or deep, burning love… 

but we’d prefer

a world

that is

nothing more

than ones

and zeros

on a blank screen

that dares

to call itself 

a mere simulacrum,

an imitation

of that which is

       Alive.