Ai could

must’ve been Ai or perhaps AI…

why can’t i see the real?

why is animation so raw—

why does it leave me feeling-

and yet none of it is real?

i’m not deaf, braille is just how i hear-

can’t you tell?

the splatter on the wall—

the strokes i carved with the nails?

is blood bright enough?

are the brown in my eyes

all that remains

of a once bright mind?

i cling to the animation—

not because i’m dying,

i’m just losing shape.

like colorful distortion or animated convulsion-

colors mix so well the war is now lost to

compulsive, repulsive, too-kindly, violently revulsive pixels.

and perhaps that’s something

AI could never write about,

but maybe Ai could.