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Frozen to a chair in an icebox,
as I sit inside the computer room.
In need of nothing and everything.

The flurescence of the room
is unbearably bright.
The screen's illuminations
have strained my eyesight.
Loudly clicking are the keys.
Each stroke becoming more numbing.
My hands grow cold
as the blood flow ceases
and I can not feel.
Lack of emmotions leave stale air.
Tasting of the insipidity,
left is the tounge to the humidity.

To touch the cold steel
is to taste the ice cubes.
But here I meet such wonderfull Dudes!

The room is dark as I sit
and stare blankly at the screen.

To the Main Hall where
new users sit to chat.
To yack about this and yip about that.
Where friendly people greet you
with a smiling "Wuz up!"
Because we're all crazy
and don't know better.
Je ne sais pas.

The blue moon of confusion looms over head.
So tired are we that our eyes stay open.
So involved are these users
that they throw cream pies and
chocolate icecream on the screen.

In time, they will know their ways,
and be free to be who
they are not wanting to be.

Liquid brains flow into one space,
stirring and mixing, all in it's place.

I will never go back,
tomorrow is too soon,
but maybe later.
Je suis perdre

The closed sign appears
and laughs in my face,
kicking me out with it's mighty boot.

The light from the lone screen
fills the cold, cold, darkend room.

Written by Rebecca R. Burton