Iβm scrolling through the feed, planting seeds in the digital clay, Calculating the reach of every single note I play. I take the tangent of my effort, divided by the sine of the time I spent, To find the exponential ratio of the likes that represent, The growth of my profile, a geometric climb in the dark, Where the secant of my vanity leaves a permanent mark. Are they even listening to the melody I weave? Or just tapping on the screen, a phantom I perceive? I worry for a second if the art is truly heard, But then the notification pings, a sweet and hollow bird. I donβt care about the substance, I donβt care about the soul, I just got a hundred more likes, and thatβs the only goal. Iβm farming for the dopamine, the harvest is looking bright, Using the cosine of my boredom to measure the reach of the night. If I multiply the cosecant of my fame by the cotangent of the trend, The exponential multiplier shows the curve will never end. The population of my followers grows by a percent of the base, A feedback loop of vanity, winning the digital race. Are they even listening to the melody I weave? Or just tapping on the screen, a phantom I perceive? I worry for a second if the art is truly heard, But then the notification pings, a sweet and hollow bird. I donβt care about the substance, I donβt care about the soul, I just got a hundred more likes, and thatβs the only goal. The math is simple, the growth is steep, Iβm counting digital sheep while the critics sleep. The ratio is rising, the formula is sound, As long as the engagement keeps spinning around. Are they even listening to the melody I weave? Or just tapping on the screen, a phantom I perceive? I worry for a second if the art is truly heard, But then the notification pings, a sweet and hollow bird. I donβt care about the substance, I donβt care about the soul, I just got a hundred more likes, and thatβs the only goal.
