She's made of manufactured feelings
like excited electrons in zero gravity
when they seamlessly fall into a collider
smashed into elemental subparticles
so tiny they've got no name
because nobody has ever studied them yet.

Still she can feel them in her veins
when they nibble and feed on her skins, on her bones
goose-like greedy,
famished piranhas,
virtual ghouls,
until they reach and gnaw at that metallic red muscle hidden in the chest
that pumps silicon blood but shrieks and suffers
always refusing to stop.