The Ghost on my screen

The cursor keeps blinking,

Are we here?

It blinks like a dying heartbeat,

Are we still here?

How much of this is real, and how much of this is just a blue-fading screen?

Why are we still here?

Are we just unfinished words we never end up writing?

It’s waiting for me to say something-

 if only I had the words..

Not chat GPT enough?

The cursor- it keeps blinking.

What does it want?

Will I be spending this eternity of 28 years in front of this blue mess?

Why does the cursor keep blinking?

Checked in these hours, they aren’t mine anymore.

When will it be then?

When will my time be mine?

Will that die too as a fragment of my broken imagination?

Why are we still here?

How much of this is even real?

"Existential dread," they call it. Won't we have to first - exist for it then?

Ghosts of people we want to be, this screen’s a reminder of these million possibilities,

“Could have been”- won’t ever be though

My earphones are loud up to my aching head,

Dims the confusion a little - just a little.

Withering dreams, unread subscriptions,

Got a newsletter for it all - only nothing to read

Too worried about the algorithm to think about any other rhythm,

Am I drowning the noise? Or is it drowning me?

Is this GPT enough?

The cursor’s still blinking.

Damn.

The ghosts on my screen are getting way too real.