Such futile
Self-indulgence —
If this is freedom,
I can't believe
We paid for this.

Not angry, not sad,
Not even disappointed —
Just very… something.

"I felt that," said the poet,
A self-proclaimed
Low-hanging-word-smith,
Ending the poem —
A short piece of
Too bland, yet purple prose —
And I did not feel a thing.

From the crypt
Not the heart —
Buried love,
Words spit in pain,
Again.
Irreconcilably apart.

Our voice,
Their commodity —
Freedom
Of purchase
Of speech.

Things are bad?
What did you expect?
We most value attention,
Then idolize assholes
Who won't chase anything but.
Plot twist, right?
Yeah, not quite.

Scream to be heard,
Then pay to be you —
It's a blue, blue world
Slowly dying,
Yet, no one seems to mind.

Sanity collapse —
One sudden, brutal loss
Too many.
Numb,
My mental mirror breaks
Upon reflection.

Poison love,
Too sweet, it's taste,
Swallowed whole —
I'd die for you,
A little every day.

Free time bandit,
Trouble magnet —
Come with me,
Let's have a ball.

Don't need praise,
Don't need kindness,
Fuck plastic sincerity —
Be real with me.

Often chance
Is deaf to want.
Not all who fail
Got to try —
Yet, we waste
The sparse opportunities
We got.

Connect, dissect,
Digest, react —
Opinions weighed
Outweigh
Any and all impressions.
That's a fact.

The endless race
That can't be won —
Our carrousel
Around the sun.

One size does not fit all,
Break all molds —
Embrace chaos,
Trust the turmoil.

A pain, so deep,
So laced in loss,
It makes a man
Forget his heart
And all it holds —
Healing moments
Out of reach,
Locked away within.

It's always crowded
At the center
Of attention.

Emotional awareness,
And a sense of mortality —
So much for intelligent design.

Born and raised,
Schooled and trained,
Well-behaved
Children of society —
Colorless, a la carte,
Pre-designed with a
Chronic lack of entropy.

That thin gray line
Where there's no leap —
When consent
Is talk,
Is cheap.