A Harder Machine Than Code

Reality Doesn’t Require Applause

The first lie they sold us
was that speed was freedom.

Neon feeds.
Infinite takes.

A billion mouths chanting now, now, now…
each forgetting what they said
before the echo cleared.

I learned early how to move through noise.
How to duck the swarm.
How to read like a shield
when the air itself turns hostile.

I watched a tree fall once.
No cameras.
No witnesses.

The earth cracked anyway.

That’s when I understood…
reality doesn’t require applause.

They told me my mind burned too hot.
Too fast.
Too much.

Sleepless nights lit by equations and ghosts,
maps folding inside maps,
thoughts ricocheting like sparks
in a closed room.

But fire isn’t madness.
It’s energy without instruction.

Discipline taught me aim.
Impact taught me cost.
Silence taught me what survives.

A mind on fire becomes a forge.
Words turn to steel.

I don’t write poems…
I build tools.

Armor for the unguarded.
Keys for doors everyone pretends are locked.

Empires rise on smoke
and call it legacy.

They livestream their collapse
and label it content.

I build slower.
I build things you can drop
and still pick up intact.

A book is a harder machine than code.
No battery.
No updates.

It runs on memory
and survives the blackout.

In one world, I disappear.
In another, I refuse.

In every version,
the signal is fire…

controlled,
carried,
passed hand to hand.

Not the flame that begs for attention.
The flame that stays lit
after the crowd leaves.

I’m not chasing the stage.
I’m cutting the stone beneath it.

I’m not here to trend.
I’m here to remain.

Let the feed erase itself.
Let the noise starve on excess.

I’ll still be here…

building with language dense enough
to leave a shadow.

A beautiful mind isn’t brilliance.

It’s restraint under pressure.
Memory under assault.
Choice when forgetting is easier.

The page turns.
The fire holds.

Cut to black.