Caveat emptier: This post was drafted with help from an AI assistant (Perplexity)— but ideated and edited extensively by the human, Bill Acton
Lord,
you know the cracks in me
better than any algorithm ever could.
You also know how easily
this bright, humming world
can widen them.
When I turn to the screen
looking for comfort—
a face, a song, a scrap of news—
help me notice
when the comfort curdles into gloom,
when the scroll becomes a prayer
to gods of envy and despair.
Protect me from illusions
of intimacy without cost:
late‑night messages
that ask nothing at first,
then slowly reach
for my secrets,
my money,
my trust.
Guard my image
from being sliced and repurposed—
my voice cloned,
my words misquoted,
my history rewritten
by tools that care nothing
for truth or consent.
Teach me to bless the cracks
without glamorizing the wounds—
to speak honestly about pain
and failure and doubt
without feeding the appetite for spectacle.
And when I log off
into the quiet,
let some small, true light
still be there—
a reminder that love,
in its slow, unmarketable way,
is safer than fame
and wiser than any feed.
wracton@gmail.com
williamacton.legalshieldassociate.com (Legalshield and IDshield subscription information and applying for associate positions)
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