Late; lying sleepless in bed,
mentally running my private fables.
How can the feelings be fed
through fast fibre optics cables?
In this new world of no faces,
absence of human touch and voice.
Sucked into spider web of virtual places,
the inconceivable truth of modern choice.
Lines on the screen, translated
into both moist vagina and cortex.
I am spell bound and hate it,
the full emptiness of this vortex.
If all has been a simple banality
of an internet chess, with no risk taken,
why does it so resemble reality,
why on Earth do I feel forsaken?
Keyboards and plugs and monitors,
the completeness of space aggravation.
This monstrosity of a computer coitus,
a soul and body dissociation.