User Agreement

I wake / to light / before / my eyes / can see,
the phone already counting how I slept.
It measures breath, assigns a quality score,
and flags a dip in mood before I speak.
My dreams are archived as unusable data.

I dress / in cloth / produced / by hands / I won’t
be allowed to name or picture or repay.
My mirror shows my face with ad overlays:
Improve your jawline. Correct your skin. Subscribe.

I walk / the route / the map / prefers / I take,
past cameras nested in the traffic lights.
My stride confirms I’m anxious, not in pain.
The system learns the difference. I don’t.

I pay / for cof / fee with / my print / my face,
and trade a week of movement for receipt.
This is efficient. This is called freedom.

The meter holds—
controlled, confident—
like a well-lit office.

I scroll / through news / select / ed just / for me,
designed to keep my pulse just under fear.
A war loads next to shoes. A death next to weather.
The order is intentional.

My grief / is la / beled high / response / poten / tial.
It sells me rest.
It sells me God.
It sells me silence.

The line tightens.

I sign / a form / I did / not read / again,
because refusing takes longer than consent.
My voice is stored. My face becomes a key.
I trade tomorrow for access today.

Something slips here—
a foot miscounts—

I try / to think / without / the screen
but thought arrives preformatted,
interrupted,
ranked.

The meter stutters.

I click / I wait / I click / I wait
again
again

A child cries on a livestream.
Engagement spikes.
The system does not register distress—
only duration.

My sadness is useful.
My attention is the product.

I know / this yet / I reach / again
because nothing else answers me this fast.

The iambs break—

My worth is no longer counted in beats
but in seconds watched
ads completed
terms accepted
faces scanned
sleep adjusted
mood predicted

I can’t finish a line
without it being finished for me

The grammar loosens.

I put the phone down
but the room still listens

The walls hum
with routers
with towers
with someone else deciding
what I will see next

I am not controlled
I am guided
nudged
optimized

I can’t remember
what my thoughts sounded like
before they were summarized

language thins
pronouns fail

I
me
user
segment

No exit appears because
there was never an entrance

only continuous access

my name becomes a number
becomes a pattern
becomes a prediction
becomes

[buffering]

I am
still
here

I think

—are you still watching?