The Tangled Interwebs We Weave

I am but an insect
toiling away
at social media
a fly

ho
     ver
ing

about the desecrated bodies
a spoiled
movable feast
they’ve laid out for us
in the heat of the moment
the day
whatever is
the latest drama
they can cook up.

Caught in this kitchen
unable to stand the heat
thmp
thmp
thmp
against a window
the pane but a screen
yet the mesh suffocating
circulated air of
heavy
breathing pleading
for an escape
asking the same masters
for answers
with productivity apps
and fitness trackers
winging it, buzzed
just enough to feel good about ourselves
flitting to another pile of shit.

 

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