You ask if the crossed line
Affected any friends of mine
And I hope that somehow my answer excludes me this time

We take the bikes out for a ride
Miriam falls at the top of the drive
And I stay up late listening to true crime

At least you won’t remember me
I never click ‘remember me’
A cache of muscle memory
Is hardly documentary

But I’m a mess, XXS
You wouldn’t settle for any less
In my mind I take the Red line, dressed
Impressively, and I only speak when pressed

Telegraph Hill in ‘84;
Woman I don’t know anymore;
The decentralized networks that ran us aground and ashore

But I am still a worrier
Blood in my ears is a barrier
Between me and the headlines I wish I could simply ignore

At least you won’t remember me
I never click ‘remember me’
And I am what I’m supposed to be
I change my profile’s privacy

I’m a mess, XXS
You wouldn’t settle for any less
I am poised and I am self-possessed
An avatar; a scimitar; bright-eyed; blessed

I bike home with all my bruises
You never name the one who loses

(KAI: I don't know, I think at least one of the apps on my phone is using my microphone. The worst part of that is how, like, I find it normal, right? How it doesn't even weird me out anymore. But I think that the intrusion of privacy is something that's unavoidable today. I mean, Mom has, like, the tape over the camera, and I do that too...it doesn't really matter, right? You're not really making a difference. Because we don't have the power of the Western world behind us, and everyone else does when they're trying to get our data. It's not so bad. So what, you know?)