Death to A.I., Life to A.A

Lately, it feels like A.I. is stealing the vibe,
Pushing real people out, like we don’t even thrive.
Scrollin’ socials, I search my favorite page,
Only to find a fake tale on center stage.

It looked so real, but no human had spoken,
Just machine minds with their codes unbroken.
The future's genius gave Meta a face,
But behind that mask—no soul, no grace.

Logged into Vocal, couldn’t believe my sight,
Stories crafted by code, not written by light.
Yeah, they type like us, might even write like us,
Jot notes and rhyme lines—but they’re not quite us.

No soul in the shell, like Cameron warned,
His visions of Skynet? Still sharp, still scorned.
Decades later, his warnings ring clear—
And the Terminator’s message is still something to fear.

We don’t need more bots, more silicon streams,
We need A.A.—authentic artist dreams.
Can the real creators rise, take back the mic?
Tell Skynet and clones to take a hike.

They might be smart—but I’m not swayed.
I’ll chant for the truth ‘til the clones all fade.
So scream it loud, don’t let ‘em stay