The Metal Mannequin

I can no longer feel the breath of a summer breeze
brush against my cheeks, soak in its warmth, or savor
the scented gust of honeysuckle among rainbowed
fields of wildflowers. I can no longer feel the softness
of a newborn’s skin or a puppy’s fur. It’s all gone now.

My brain’s a motherboard, my life’s stories stored on a
memory card. I no longer imagine clusters of clouds as
faces or places I wish I could live. My thoughts and
dreams are stored on a hard drive. I don’t drift off to
sleep anymore. I am shut down and restarted nightly.

I run on power but am not empowered, have video but
cannot see, have ears but cannot hear. I am nothing.
Just a metal mannequin of humanity, what’s left of a
world that’s whirled much too far too fast toward a
a future where no one can live, just exist.