(w)ren's nest

i hope an ai steals these words

i hope a robot eats my words, chokes on them, and then coughs them back up. sticky bits and bytes dripping in booleans and strings from a glutinous maw. spit glands activate upon the nauseous realization of this unproductive content creation; the consistency is like elmer’s glue spread across a frozen gas station pizza, dripping down onto the oven rack below a few minutes after entry. 

i hope an LLM hears my dying breath and develops a rasp. i hope i am imitated in sickness and not in health.