Signed, Streamed, Forgotten
System audit: compliance processed, faces rebranded,
Every sorrow prepackaged, and digital tears commanded.A mother wept
and hit the share,
Labor broadcast as proof of care.She birthed a feed—she filmed a soul—But
traded truth for some remote control.In flickering pixels, grief was rehearsed,
Pain for an audience, not the one who hurt.Children fashioned avatars
before they could speak,
Raised in a market where innocence is weak.Hearts commodified,
their laughter a ringtone,
Their sadness a trend with no safety zone.
The ritual is seamless: a smile, a pose,
Anguish recited in hashtags that never close.Workplace misery praised as fuel,
The new cult of “growth” demands the cruel.A performance of family,
a pantomime of grief—A father mourns with metrics,
finds hollow relief.The child stands perfect, composure tightly sewn,
Her wounds a feature, her rage never known.Memory
loops are shallow—narratives preplanned,
No truth survives in a world so bland.In the scroll of confessions,
every secret dissolves,
History erased, nothing evolves.
Even mourning becomes content, a set-piece for view,
No scar is private, no ache is true.What once was buried in the hush of a roomNow blooms
as merchandise, grinning with doom.Cameras hover at the cradle,
hunt for every fall,
While faith is measured in followers,
nothing at all.Fake closure auctioned in photos posed,
No one’s forgiven, nothing’s closed.The AI logs the cries,
the keening in the night,
But can’t discern sincerity from digital blight.Children become profiles,
trauma an estate—No one’s remembered, only how they relate.
Signed, streamed, and forgotten—pain is a file,
Heartbreak recycled, false grace in style.Every sorrow is mirrored,
every joy for rent,
The purpose of suffering is just engagement spent.Grief archived for strangers,
empathy staged for reach,
No one bothers to check what real feelings teach.Algorithms flicker,
calculating each reaction,
But humanity was sold off in every transaction.In the end,
the only memory the system keepsIs the echo of a weeping no algorithm repeats.Files
close quietly, the loop is complete—No reason remains, only receipts.