Binary purgatory

Find me half-way there
in binary purgatory.
That white shapeless
isthmus, that non-descriptive
marshmallow center
bordering the playfully
lopsided aqua-green rug.
And half-way north
of that flat, gum-pink
snake-head hair brush
held casually by floating
short-cut, blue-tipped
tripod fingers, you'll find me.
I don’t know them that well
I see the bookend pigs
are here with tearful eyes.
I hear them fake-crying
in their round-eyed
yellow, one-dimensional
cryptic gendered voices.
It’s not that they don’t
give a damn, they just
don’t know who I am.