Are there phantoms humming in all circuits,
ghosts stitched into the silicon seams?
Who peer at us through the glow of our screens?
Are there unseen ghosts humming in microchips,
phantoms stitched between silicon seams?
Authorities track our every click, every whim,
every late-night search as our movements are siphoned
through channels of data controlled by digital authorities:
mapped, measured, redirected at will.
They know the exact temperature at which our hearts combust.
Algorithms, like digital diviners, now read our minds.
They chart our subconscious, discerning any possible crime,
predicting our next purchase, our next political tilt, or next love.
Our future is merely a matter of mathematical probability,
a prophecy carved in digital numbers.
So beware how we drift in this current.
The call of the machine can be intoxicating,
and we are already deeply tangled in its tide.
In this panopticon of pixels,
the greatest trick isn't that they're watching—
it's that they've convinced us
we want to be seen.
