The relationship was up and down, feeling like a seasaw,
So I wrote this verse staring at my keyboard
She slashed my heart, as she split it into snippets,
The ups and downs, smiles and frowns, shit had shifted
running out of options, she wanted to erase me,
I told her to return when she wanted to escape me,
I wanted control and command, but she asked for space please
couldn’t select all or press the apple a key,
Shot caps through my heart and put it on lock,
And made me feel numb as she dragged me off the dock
Although I was bold she was lenient like italics,
The audacity for capacity, it was graphic
Her vibe was telepathic, her aora like a magnet,
The body of an email with none of the attachment
Eyes were made of cameras, utterly panoramic,
Bossom was the internet, for perverts and their antics,
Mouth was the speakers as they blasted through the static,
Brain was the hardrive, memory photographic,
My language would damage and exceed her bandwith,
She wanted to be a star, but she was only an asterisk,


From the moment I logged on I knew it’d be long lasting,
I put her on my lap and I felt a strong passion,
When she was running low, I would be her outlet,
As I wiped her a tears with a moist towelette
Had my back wherever I roamed, like wifi,
Photobooth, I could see my past through her wide eyes,
She was an apparatus I could tell my status,
And she’d even listen when my friends tried to chat us,
We listened to the same music, she had my heart scanned,
And when I started one she loved my garage band,
She even helped me with my homework, word,
But we moved in quick time, then everything blurred,
I became committed, then I became addicted,
Too many secrets restricted encrypted
She told me I’m sorry but I need my space,
I said what? No one uses Myspace
I read her face like a book, it was obvious
tried to poke her, but her form springs anonymous,
So my love was aborted and exported,
I tried to her restart but all she did was force quit,
Then I saw that millions of kids were using her, abusing her,
cruising her, cloning and reproducing her
She was a PC, but she was from personal,
A generation obsessed with the virtual