They are so cool.
Their Insta-perfect faces, poses, frames.
What is it with my life that sucks so bad, I couldn’t be one of them?
They alienate me like an aching tooth.
What lies behind the lens, those filters, subtext?
Send me digital to the hoodlums, unventured spaces, places, undiscovered.
I want to be as pristine as clear waterfall where I can be alone.
And restore my thoughts, soul to full gauge, miracle, throttle.
And be like manta rays.
Honeycombs, honey tooth, a thumb in the earth.
How many bottles till I’m sober? I keep asking.
There’s so much pressure for someone in their twenties to swallow the world.
This is all my parents’ fault. They should have been more ambitious and made more money.
This is pointless, hopeless, where the fuck do I start and who do I take with me? I’m alone.
I’m in a box, gray as the shadows I cast, that may as well be a grave site for the rest of us.