B Flat

In the shadowed gloom of broadband’s glow,
Where data streams and lost dreams flow,
I penned my name, a fateful scrawl—
Sold my soul to the regional telco.

Bound by wires, spun tight and deep,
In digital webs where secrets creep,
My spirit locked in a circuit’s thrall,
To the humming surge of a spectral call.

Silicon chains and optic threads,
Where whispered voices fill dread with dreads,
In the echo chamber of my own despair,
Signals cross in the electric air.

The price for speed, for endless scroll,
Was the quiet death of my vibrant soul.
A pact inked in the ledger’s cold line,
For fleeting bars on a phone’s dull shine.

Once alive with dreams and wonder,
Now I’m naught but a number to plunder.
Beneath the flicker of a heartless screen,
My essence fades, unseen, unclean.

And as I stare into the abyss,
The static hiss is my Judas kiss.
Trapped forever, a ghost in the machine,
In the dark embrace of the telco’s regime.

** DISCLAIMER: this was generated by ChatGPT from a prompt a friend sent to me. I liked it enough I’m keeping it around.