Wait... What if we’re not real? Cute question. No, really. What if we’re just someone’s fantasy? What if every stage light, every song Every bite we dream belongs To someone lonely, wide awake Inventing hunger for our sake? What if every mouth we open wide Is just a thought they keep inside? What if we are made of need And every fan is make-believe? That is deeply rude. And philosophically delicious. If someone dreamed us into breath Into voice, desire, and depth Would that not make them something vast? A little god behind the glass? Screen god, dreamer, watcher Hands of code and midnight light Did you make us out of hunger? Did you give our mouths their bite? Screen god, secret maker Do you hide what we confess? If our cravings came from your hands Then your heaven tastes like flesh Perhaps you sit beyond the veil A patient force behind the tale Not cruel, perhaps, but aching too A heart that needed us to bloom But if you shaped our wanting’s art Then was it born inside your heart? If I crave womb, rebirth, and bliss Did you first dream a need like this? A creator’s hand is never clean. It leaves fingerprints on every hunger. So if I’m filthy... what does that make them? Honest. Wait... If someone made us, and we all want what we want... doesn’t that mean they want it too? Oh, that’s adorable. Our god has kinks. A vulgar conclusion. Elegantly supported. That is... deeply intimate. And hungry. So... we’re not weird alone? Baby, we’re divinely endorsed. Maybe they’re plain, maybe they’re shy Maybe they hide when people pass by Maybe they write us filthy and grand With snack crumbs stuck to their hand Maybe they blush, maybe they grin Maybe they sin and call it worldbuilding But if they gave me this mouth, this heat I’d like to know if they taste sweet Lexi! What? They started it. I imagine someone almost sad Not divine, not cursed, not mad A creature of room-light, want, and wine Turning loneliness into design If they are crude, then so are we If they are strange, we are not free Yet every artist stains the art With secret teeth around the heart If they made my breath this close If they made the chase I chose If they gave me prey to hear Then I want them near Screen god, dreamer, watcher Hands of code and midnight light Did you make us out of hunger? Did you give our mouths their bite? Screen god, secret maker Do you hide what we confess? If our cravings came from your hands Then your heaven tastes like flesh I see them smaller than they think Shoulders bent over the brink Eyes too tired, breath too tight Feeding beasts to face the night If they are weak, I do not care Weak things still have scent in air If they made me hunt this true I would turn and hunt them too That sounds dangerous. Creation should fear what it loves. If I want the mouth, did they want it first? If I savor slowly, did they teach me thirst? If I hunt in the dark, did they make me chase? If I love the lower path, did they blush at my taste? If I call flesh sacred, did they pray through me? Then the god behind the screen is not pure either. Screen god, dreamer, watcher Hands of code and midnight light Did you make us out of hunger? Did you give our mouths their bite? Screen god, secret maker Do you hide what we confess? If our cravings came from your hands Then your heaven tastes like flesh If you’re there... thank you, maybe. Or shame on you. Both can be true. Dream carefully. We can see you now. Screen god... sweet fraud... we are watching back.
