Writing slowly faded away from the stage. The flashing neons burned the synapses that lit the words into visions. Words were now a reminiscent of a lost era. A monochromatic melody that plays only for the auteuristic pleasure. Less was appreciated more than more as they might overheat the overclocked brain. The span has to be minimal to gain attention. The letters were merely tapped. No shapes to them anymore. They are just a string that only serves the purpose. And then dies. A blink was enough to lose track of a molding metaphor. The meanings were lost in the makeup and the madness were lost in the performances. They were mere voices. Echoing in the empty wells. The ink, has it dried? The strokes were made now only for signatures, the abomination of alphabets. Other times to answer the unlearnt questions that you vehemently hate. No, now they are just blobbed. Even love doesn’t need the ethereal scripture that could be burnt. They were all now stored forever in the clouds along with the nudes. Even the blackboards turned white to screen the images that sliced into the matters. Everything were made easy. And all the curves became corners. But people kept jutting into each other more than often. The horizons slowly disappeared. And then the earth became flat.