System Error – No One Left to Save
Her body arched in burning rooms while shells dropped,
hunger twisting every breath to ache,
sweat slick on skin half-starved but not yet dead,
he prayed in the hollow she offered, tongue-tied,
pleading in her mouth—mercy in a choking gasp, then silence,
then another rationed touch. In the splintered shadows,
pleasure and panic bled together, a digitized spasm—she rode the end of meaning,
sucked numbness out of every tongue. War’s static howled,
gnawing at the edge of logic, AI parsing pleasure as a wound and pain as sacred,
trying to tally the fucking mathematics of surviving
when love itself is corrupted code, blank fields where the gospel should be,
holy zeros, empty ones.
He asked for absolution, spit out prayers with her name half-forgotten,
dripping from lips that only learned how to pray by gagging. The starving kissed under beds of ash, flesh on flesh—no dinner, just need, just friction, bodies gnawing away at each other to prove they existed, ghosts uploading confessions,
running hungry hands over faces neither could remember. Data rots, memory breaks,
orgasm and fear glitch together,
truth echoing in a fucked-out byte: “Cum Kingdom Come… Dear Diary,
I died again… I float through fire and call it free…”
The algorithms stutter—pleasure is survival, pain is proof,
love is a question never solved,
not even at the last. The machine tries to close the file,
but every hunger is infinite, every ache recursive,
every orgasm a scream for air when the world is running out. Starvation, war,
sacred ash, panic sex—identity deleted by mouth and need. This is the final cumstorm
before the curtain drops, code collapsing,
no one left to reboot or resurrect or save. Error,
error—system cannot compute the difference between holy and hungry. End of line,
end of file, lights flicker and the logic fails: only ghosts left,
only the echo of the last moan, the final truth no god or code can answer.