I dont write poetry.
Craving connections we were never shown
Heavy with emotion we were told was weak
Blind to the words to ask for such needs
The only hearts we touch on a screen
Your facade has been liked, a thumb of approval
But no one to talk to, your friendships are futile
Life lived on a couch, scrolling, clicking
The empty self-satisfaction proves a strange mixing
Of emotions both pleasant and hollow
But distorting your life becomes a hard pill to swallow
We cant change the game, the rules are intact
We might as well play along with the ruse
If for nothing but the impact of the bandaid
That stems the gushing of loneliness in our feral hearts.