media

typing…

Connected?
World Wide Web:
caught where the spider wants us.

trapped

by the tweets about nothing,
Facebook likes, new-age activism.
As if sharing this poem-post changes anything.
Screens filled with snaps and chats;
timelines overflowing with so-called facts.
Where is the connection
when texts replace face-to-face talks
and everyone stalks?
Blue ticks and last seens?
Silent screams behind screens.

Life is out there
but we reply robotically.
Waiting:

typing…

An ellipsis of our lives;
three bullets: mind, heart, soul.
Death of communication,
hashtag RestInPeace
*post*

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Fall!

Take your screeching strings
and make the music you like.
Let the masses dance to noise,
let the people believe.

Take your criticism and write it across the sky.
Let the world know your opinion
is the fact.
Let them know!

Take your eyes and your assumptions
and sew them into the fabric of the world.
Preach the truth-lies and broken lives
and let that sell your soul.

While you’re at the butcher slicing my life,
make sure to buy yourself some tough meat
because you’ll need to be toughened up
when the demons get to lick your skin.

During the plotting of my downfall
make sure to charge your video cameras
and have back up batteries, because you know what?
My fall is far.

Catch me from the right angle
and direct my fall into your hands.
Immortalise my failure;
let me feel your strangle.

Write my downfall!
Record my blood!
Snap-shot my failure!
Headline my stumble!

Take my life, I give it to you.
But know this, for it is true:

You will never touch my soul.