for the data miners
yes, i know my passwords are stupid and yet i keep forgetting them,
yes, i am aware of how cripplingly boring my daily activities are.
yes, i am cognizant of how compromising it is, with my ailment-searches so breachable,
yes, i am blackmail-able, but not in an exotic, cinematic, or lucrative manner.
yes, my chest aches to think of how vulnerable i am,
but yes, like a fool sculpting shit, i've got to keep talking.
yes, you've got a very accurate chronicle of my longing,
but past stalling is no indication of future money to burn.
o digital vultures, ye binary scavengers, how could i possibly be worth your while?
only remotely in demographic, in aggregate.
i swear i don't even fit my profile,
i confess to not even honestly knowing my preferences.
it's lonely, frustrating, unfulfilling, to sail these unfinished seas of truth, trial, and trivia–
it's hard to make a ransom for something
that might well prove to be tin.
o yes, i might be better
if i pursued what i desired,
o yes, i might be worthy
if i acted on my inexhaustible want,
o then i might have some experience
to parlay into being an elite customer,
a chosen consumer, not just shoved a check
when i lay down my fork at a solitary lunch.