Crawling to you.
Following all the way.
All the way up your lines.
Can you feel short circuiting out?
Lighting the way.
Showing me inside.
What a sight.
Trying not to behave but the current already knows the way.
Sparks are just a symptom.
Gotta plug me in your system.
Gotta plug. Me. In. Your. System.
This is where it goes down, quietly.
In a calm fashion now.
There's no point in trying to get out.
In a quiet desperation you say to me “have your way with me.”
Tracing all of the wires,
You’ve got a virus already sickening you.
Trying no to to devour the digital who,
The digital you.
The version you’ve shown me,
The version I can’t see.
It’s just a man in the machine pulling the strings.
Tickling it stings.
Wonder what he needs.
Everything just fades to black.
Not sure you’ll ever come back from that.
Blown all the circuits, the circuits are worthless.
Everything else is made of flesh.
In time nothing will be left.
Sparks can fly.
Pass you by your whole life.