The Irony of Life is that we are nothing more than organic algorithms – a poem

The Irony of Life is that we are Nothing more than Organic Algorithms.

 

The irony, I thought wistfully

Is that we really do not exist.

I’m a fabrication;

An organic algorithm –

Nothing more.

The essential me is an illusory.

Looking into the future

I see

My computer reads my face

Checks my heart rate

Takes my blood pressure

Assesses my brain waves

And knows more about me than I do.

It can tell me what to buy

Who to love

And how to vote

According to my true feelings –

With no mistakes.

I am unnecessary.

It understands my inner workings.

It reads my heart.

It reads my mind

And understands my secrets.

My own deliberations have become superfluous.

My biggest secret

Is that I am

Hollow.

I do not exist.

There is no essential me.

I am an organic algorithm

Obeying the dictates of my

Predetermined patterns