I keep the volume low.
Your ghost still pings sometimes,

I scroll for warmth in plastic light,
each face repeats the same good night.
No blood, no pulse, just patterned waves,
we’re data ghosts pretending grace.

I feel your name behind the screen,
it fades before it ever breathes.

Touch me through my digital skin,
tell me I’m real before I log in.
Every feed’s a mirror, cracked but clean,
every thought recycled, machine to machine.
If I’m alive, it’s by design —
a loop that ends where I confide.

We dream in numbers, sleep in codes,
love translated into modes.
Your typing stops — that’s how I know
the algorithm let you go.

I see your shadow in the scroll,
too perfect to be whole.

Touch me through my digital skin,
tell me I’m real before I log in.
Every feed’s a mirror, cracked but clean,
every thought recycled, machine to machine.
If I’m alive, it’s by design —
a loop that ends where I confide.

We are the crowd,
we are the code.
Lonely together,
never alone.

Touch me through my digital skin,
tell me I’m real before I log in.
Erase the silence, fake the sin,
love me once before I begin.

The page refreshes,
and I’m gone again.


Digital skin (Alternative Rock reload)

For ten days I'm in RELOAD mode, reworking all my creations from the past twenty days and transforming them into a different musical universe
The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

Digital skin (Alternative Rock reload)

Terminalose