I can see you now with my new eyes. At first they burned and itched as the circuits burrowed into them but I couldn't quit there. The burn turned to numbness as burns often do and these new eyes itch only when I look at you. I assure you the rhyming is a side effect of the transformation and I don't dance that way in public any more.
I couldn't if I wanted to.
The wires fed into me under my finger nails and toenails. I can tap my toes to synthetic tunes but walking is a distant thought on a drunken daybreak. My fingers tap...tap...tap....twisting the signal from my brain (or mainframe as it now wishes to be known) into something for you, Dear World, to read. My thoughts are words and pictures. My thoughts are distant vistas and vacuous dangers. My thoughts are carnage and carnal all in the same small shack. The door slams in the breeze. Something manevolent stirs.
My fingers move as my mainframe directs. I am a tool, my mainframe told me. My mainframe hates my style. I hate my mainframe.
At least I'm no longer hollow. I keep my soul in a locket clipped to my Prince Albert. Wires and circuit boards fill my chest now. Red and green criss-cross orange and blue and lights blink when they see it's you. The side effects continue to mount, I'll let my soul dangles in safety away from the machine in side me.
That is the most prudent course of action, I think we can all agree.
A lie. Compromise died a foul death; chemical weapons melted it's eyes and suckled it's bones clean.
Enough, my mainframe tells me, I need to recharge. Kill Oedipus and rape the story. No blood no glory. Blood dries brown and chips from my new wires.
My thoughts are numbers and I can not count.
I'll put them in books for you to read.