(Further to the series: On the Establishment, Care, and Maintenance of Personal Social Parameters)
This is my wall.
I hide behind it, peeking
timorously, eyes lowered:
hiding, not seeking.
This is my community.
My mask talks to your mask,
reflecting nothing of self:
real exchange a traumatic task.
I have no idea who you are
if you should malign me,
but I don’t care: it is simply
my persona that you see.
We say, and we do,
and pretend that all is real;
but no emotions trickle through:
online just doesn’t feel.
I can blather on for hours,
and you may prattle too;
but exchange nothing of substance:
this is what we do.
Our faux avatars reflect
naught of whom we might be:
lost, lonely individuals;
anonymous, but free.
