Fabricated Feel

We are nearing obsolescence.

Not abruptly—

but by increments we applauded.

We artificialed our lives early.

Enhanced flavor first.

Butter that was no longer butter,

yet we consumed it without protest.

Convenience taught us to swallow replacements

as if they were progress.

Then images learned to lie convincingly.

Movies made the fabricated feel earned,

the impossible familiar.

Our appetite adjusted.

It always does.

We wanted more.

We demanded less cost, time, and resistance.

And we worked hard—earnestly—

to make the imitation indistinguishable from the real.

Now plastic circulates in our blood.

Measured. Documented.

A fact we receive with a shrug and a joke.

I say I shouldn’t stand too close—

my insides might melt—

and we laugh, 

because laughter keeps panic useful.

Artificial intelligence did not arrive suddenly.

It has been here, quietly fed.

We trained it with our desires,

our speed, hunger,

and insistence on endless consumption.

We are not being replaced.

We are being absorbed.

And the monster is not external.

It eats what we give it.