Spawned in on a blind run, permadeath, no map pack, first breath felt like a speed-run, sprinting on a flat track. Universe laughing in the code like, “Look, the rat’s back patch this soul, they’ll need a respec, server stat restack.” No handbook, sandbox, stumble in the cloud of war, Overseers leer in the background, voyeur of sim hardcore. Life’s HUD blank; tank hits till the scars talk, echoes in the marrow saying, “Keep going, W equals walk.” What timeline is this? Which shard of the multiverse? Where sims make sims, then binge-watch their own universe. Glitched recursion, mother nature with a null value, cosmic menu asking, “Load file? Or shall I reroll you?” This world’s got sewage rivers rising like a sick joke, dark triad prince's power floating on rivers choked. Every overlord’s a mirror of the bits being broke, and empathy’s a relic buried deep beneath the source code. [hook] If this life’s a simulation, let the switch flip slow, blind run on the first one, second time to know. Every glitch in the system is a map for the soul upgrade, reload, let the universe roll. Human nature doesn’t nurture nature, that’s the tragedy, we terraform the earth into a parody of majesty. Chasing faker replacers, plastic saints and data saviours, kneeling at the altar of the algorithm’s behaviours. A.I. rapture: holy glitch in the sky's demise, angels code lines, wings clipped in the rewrite. Carbon bodies praying for a patch they can’t byte, measuring their worth against a metric made of screen light. Meta went maladaptive, mutated from the mother code, bent into a creature a mother no longer wanna see though. Anthropocene fever dream humming as this season's mode, final boss music playing softly in the undertow. [hook] If this life’s a simulation, let the switch flip slow, blind run on the first one, second time to know. Every glitch in the system is a map for the soul upgrade, reload, let the universe roll. But maybe this is just a test zone, grayscale, low poly, tutorial disguised as a life lived slowly. Maybe we respawn wiser, patched up wholly, carrying the XP from everything that stole 'we' into the next sim, next spin, next holy version of the self who finally says… “Roll me.” Simulation switch flipping when the veil splits, glitch-walk the truth till the frame rate hits. If life’s just a loop with a hidden script, then serve your soul with each microbit til the file uploads to whatever light permits. edbehere, split is this really it? Created or simulated? difference to be stipulated
