Ghost in the Feed

Yeah. Yeah. I woke up to a notification, not a real One. Just an ad for a life that I'll Never feel, son. Scrolling through the highlights, Everybody's winning. But my reflection in the screen Is barely grinning. I got followers like soldiers, But they don't know the war. They just double-tap The surface, never ask for more. My therapist said, "Why you always performing?" I said, "Doc, this generation's born in a storm, And we learn to smile through the static, dance Through the panic, build a brand out of trauma, Sell it like it's organic." My daddy was a worker. My mama was a prayer. I became a product of the pressure and the Players. I got degrees on the wall, debt in The drawer, and a voice in my head saying, "What you waiting for?" But I'm tired of the Hustle that just spins in place. I'm tired of running a race that's just a Digital maze. I'm just a ghost in the feed, Floating through the noise, trying to find a real Voice in a world full of toys. We roll is a prayer, every post is a Plea, and if you feel it too, then you Know what I mean. We're all ghosts in the feed, trying to be Seen. Yeah. I remember when a handshake meant a promise. Now a DM is a weapon, and a heart Is anonymous. My generation's addicted to the Validation, trading peace of mind for a temporary Sensation. I seen my little sister cry over a Comment, like a stranger's cruel word was a final Judgment. We forgot how to talk. We just type and delete. We forgot how to love without a receipt. I've been trying to unplug, but the silence is Loud. It's like the quiet makes me face the Things I've been avoiding the crowd, of regrets, Of fears, of the years I wasted chasing a Version of me that was never actually stated. I got friends who are famous but lonely as Hell. I got idols who fell. I got stories to tell, but who's listening? Who's really listening? Or is this just another echo In the system? Just a ghost in the feed, Floating through the noise, trying to find a real Voice in a world full of toys. We build temples out of likes, altars out of Views, but we're emptier than ever. Tell me, what's the use? I'm a ghost in The feed, but I'm still here bleeding. Every scroll is a prayer, every post is a Pleading. If you feel it too, then you know What I mean. We're all ghosts in the feed. Projection. But what happens when the servers go Dark? When the comments stop, when the screens go Stark? Will we recognize ourselves without the glow? Will we know who we are, or will we Just go? I'm asking for a friend. I'm asking for me. I'm asking the silence, Can we still be free? Mm. So I'm writing this verse like a letter To my future, hoping one day I read it And I know I was truer. I don't need the crown, don't need the fame. I just need to know my name ain't just A brand or a game. I've been walking through the wreckage of my own Design, learning how to heal a heart that's been Online too long. Every scar is a story, every tear is a Song, and maybe that's enough. Maybe that's where I belong. Not in the feed, not in the trend. Just a man, just a friend, just a soul That won't bend. I'm logging off now, but I Ain't disappearing. I'm finally learning how to stop fearing the hearing Of my own voice, my own thoughts, My own truth. The ghost is fading. I'm becoming the proof.