Fabricated Feel

It feels like we are nearing obsolescence.
Not abruptly—
but by increments we applaud.

We artificialed our lives early.

Enhanced flavor first.

Butter that was no longer butter,

yet we consumed it anyway.

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, eventually.

We wanted more.
We demanded less cost and time.
We called it efficiency.

And we worked hard—

to make the imitation indistinguishable from the real.

 

Measured. Documented.

Shared like a trivia game.

A fact we receive with a shrug and a joke.

I say I shouldn’t stand too close—

because laughter keeps panic 

from spilling.

Artificial intelligence did not arrive suddenly.

It has been here, quietly fed.

We trained it with our desires,

our speed, 

and insistence on endless consumption.

We are not being replaced.

We are acting willingly. 

And the monster is not external.

It eats what we give it.