They write to me and I don't answer,
they make a comment and I give a shit.
I weave thoughts, I write
a sort of verses
to the sidereal network of those without a face,
of those without a self-esteem, without friends
or fans or a dog barking up their tree.
Hungry for attention and fame
we go through the holes
of pixels doing and redoing
and redoing again;
a post leads to another one,
a kind word and an insult
make to raise the statistics arch
and suddenly we are happy one day,
one week, one month,
a brief year and we can say
we had lots of visitors
and the hit counter collapsed for a while
as same as our ego,
in the face of our loneliness.
I am called for attention
by those who are always waiting for attention
and a message after the tone.
But I shut down cause I don't feel like it,
cause I'm an ungrateful wretch
who only knows about writing and writing and writing.
Because I stay here wanting to take
and never give away for it's so tedious
to tell lies, to be grateful because
it is stipulated by usage .
And so what if they are only shadows
dancing behind some nicks
placed on a sheet or a form,
noisy and uncreative inventions,
options given for the web in charge?
And so what if they are one more excuse
to fill this new page,
to write a pair of lines
and say what must to be said
once for all
even if it hurts in the soul of the lewd
monster of egomania.com?
So what?
