Personal World

His love was written in Italics;
Despair was formed of Bold.
Dreams and Hope barely showed-up grey
Eschewed by the paper fold.

His Job CVs were underlined
In crisply defining toner.
The bland layout gave little doubt
He was a precise loner.

His fingers scampered as a mouse;
Heart cold as circuit solder.
Letters and Poems would always stay
  in clicky nested folders.

Exactitude would follow him
  as word followed word followed cursor.
He finally electrocuted himself
  ... to something more bearably terse.