Ai could

must’ve been Ai or perhaps AI… why can’t i see the real? why is animation so raw— why does it leave me feeling- and yet none of it is real? i’m not deaf, braille is just how i hear- can’t you tell? the splatter on the wall— the strokes i carved with the nails? is blood bright enough? are the brown in my eyes all that remains of a once bright mind? i cling to the animation— not because i’m dying, i’m just losing shape. like colorful distortion or animated convulsion- colors mix so well the war is now lost to compulsive, repulsive, too-kindly, violently revulsive pixels. and perhaps that’s something AI could never write about, but maybe Ai could.