Internet Siren

Siege O’clock. Four thirty.
Sleep is a waning desire, a mere must, replenishing disgust.
Not tonight. The tranquility of isolation is too appealing.
Though the isolation is artificial as long as I am here.

So I’ll watch the cyber-sea rise from my personalized island.
I’ll stare at the girls. With the security of knowing, I won’t be caught.
They can’t stare back…
They claim to be bisexual.
They go both ways.
Ways both go they.
And yet never towards me…
The younger they are, the more tantalizing they seem.
All too fresh… Too new, and I feel as if,
I should stop looking, or at the least, become a priest…

And besides the temptations, rudimentary and lewd.
Come the absurdities to tap the surrealist mood.
A cyber flyer, claiming the one true color.
With the uninspired cries,
“White power!
White power!”
Whatever curiosity present, was stemmed from disgust. Trust me on that.

That obsession with power, that decency frowns upon,
May not be ill placed, but in all respect, wrong.
I am no better than the faithful bigots, nor their tacky trinkets.
From this chair, I lord over my cyber domain.
Where all programs listen, and bow to my name.
The pasts posted, to aid a perilous plight,
Are my entertainment on this accessioning night.

You must understand… I complain while I wait.
My “Kinky Girls Plus” is past twenty minutes late.
And no one will know, of my small indulgence.
The past and future are just a click away.
This is the closest I will ever be to a superhero.
And instead of saving the girl. I am watching her.
Staring. Watching. Wishing. Waiting.
Waiting for… a fitting end.

END strikes my mind with malicious intent.
A pull of a cord or a flick of a switch…
Security… No one is awake. No one is alive.
They are all pictures. They are all words.
Misspelled words…
The lazy habits reek in my mind.
The “u’s” and the “r’s” and all left behind.

“Nice tits.”
Perhaps the most insightful piece I’ve gazed upon
This whole over juiced night (14% left until I myself “over juice”)
It’s the comments like that, that build and destroy
The cute little girls and the skulking, bald boys.
And I can bear witness…
To the birth of suns (from bastard fathers)
And the infancy of stares. Stares.
I am still staring.

Video download complete… Excuse me a minute…

Ah! Alas! I have found the reason I seek
Now no more need to ogle and peek.
Sleep now seems more inviting than ever
I have sleep to explore and THIS connection to sever.
END is not so scary as once it did seem.
Nothing is required to experience dreams.

“White power, White Power”
Save that for cultural cowards.
The little girls, more makeup than sense.
I realize now, their cries for confidence.
Their bisexual fantasy, a teenage atrocity,
The throws of non-conformity?
No, just a cry for cyber-acceptance
Cute little cuts on the wrist, make for no penance.

My cycle is done and the story on hold.
My island is flooded and my figure grown old.
And I know, I will sit in this same position,
With familiar thoughts and no supervision.

No matter what happens in the following hours.
It will always come back… To the craving of power
Soon it will be,

Siege O’clock. Four thirty.
Sleep is a waning desire, a mere must, replenishing disgust.
Not tonight. The tranquility of isolation is too appealing.
Though the isolation is artificial as long as I am here.