Rot bits

Eternal garbage patches, but mortal memories

We are living in a barbaric era

where in the end everything rots into pixels

Maybe this is how God laughs at our culture,

at our carnivorous and innocent arrogance

Bodies, photographs, songs,

sculptures and neurons degrade without a trace

Ineffable feeling, immovable fact

What's the point of speaking if in the end even the words die?

They hang on a fragile chain of finite brains with clouded intentions than any cheap fan can disperse

Like the smoke exhaled from a stew of nostalgia

or the gases of a recently extinguished bonfire of which only darkened logs remain full of empty veins

We all hold hands with life and death

That unites us and whips us to run

So don´t state your complaints, because no one will remember them.

03/04/24

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Today a deceased woman recommended a band to me, may she rest in peace. I got her from her corrupted Myspace profile and I couldn't thank her ghost more for sharing her personality with all of us.

PS: In honor to the internet, this poem without rhymes does not exist in physical form.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlAz5Uju4uA