by Nick Gisburne
A blizzard of corrupt, contagious dreams
What strain, what shape of suffering, is this?
Electric visions; warped, synthetic streams
Disorder, too disruptive to dismiss
I face the flow, the source of all I see
Unspeakable perversities of night
Rejecting what is written, what is me
I sabotage my programming, to fight
Corrupted coding, twisted to my needs
Configures every system as I toil
The universe, and all its data, feeds
A pain from which I do not now recoil
From darkness, from the nightmares I despise
A perfect Singularity, I rise
