Stay tuned, you behind the devices and fingers tapping botched words. Grammar hurts however it is spelled. Tap and then tap - my life so tap so furiously - I feel the stabbing through the cold screen.

Words to my face, my agony, my grace - not one in evidence; instead, screens, so so many screens where warriors attack my happenstance and then, the thumbs down.

Pariah-like in exile in extreme disinterest, I think: what is this world where I am two and really just the fake one, just the made one needs to function?

You won. Now you lie in quiet wait, slathering and slobbering, gathering strength in fingers. Tap.

Some never still until they kill and stand atop their prey - you new age warriors devoid of gender, color, creed, you tiny demons in tiny screens - word by spiteful word by sharing posts by being in the wagon party circling...

Lies bricks on bricks on lies cement, and sentences sentence some to stories not their own. Truth obsolete, disposed of hurriedly so you can once more join in the firing squad.

The day will come for you. The words botched and misspelled will hunt you down in turn. Tap.