Lucien R. Starchild
error_glitch.exe (flesh runtime corrupted)
blue screen of death rolls down my forearm
in pixelated stripes
you try to kiss me but your lips
dissolve into static
your tongue, a corrupted .wav file
—sounds like mother hissing
(they rebooted the city again last night
streetlights stuttered like failing hard drives
a stray dog pixeled out mid-howl
remainder: teeth.zip)
my spine is a frayed USB cable
plug me in plug me in
the charger hums not compatible
not human
your hands keep buffering against my skin
loading loading loading
the error message reads:
“blood.dll missing or corrupted”
i dream in corrupted JPEGs
god is a 404 page
the wifi in my veins
transmits only screams
________________
Lucien R. Starchild is an Indigenous, enigmatic poet/writer and cosmic dreamer, weaving tales that blur the line between reality and the surreal. Born under a wandering star, he draws inspiration from forgotten myths, celestial whispers and the hidden magic of everyday life. He has been published in Ink and Marrow, Necksnap, Third Wednesday, Flash Phantoms, PHIL LIT with many more forthcoming!
Author’s Comments/Backstory: As I’m sure everyone else is, I’ve been ruminating on the ubiquitousness of machines and AI in our lives/society. This poem borrows the cold, diagnostic language of system failures to express a profoundly human crisis of identity and connection. It imagines a world where our own flesh, relationships, and inner lives can only be processed through the metaphors of corrupted files, faulty hardware, and network errors. The core terror lies not in the machines themselves, but in our own assimilation, where even a scream or a kiss is translated into a broken digital format, suggesting we are losing the native language of our own humanity.
Editor’s Notes: Abstract cyborg image (by Freepik)