Strobe-like attention spans being bought and sold to the biggest investor and the brightest flash in the pan. Pre-packaged for a premature burial.
Follow me to the market, merely open your eyes.
Innocent contortionist; proprietor of the moment,
take your fifteen minutes in the spotlight, with full realization of its limited duration.
Bleed me like spilt coffee with a pen in hand and a twitch in the eye.
Boredom brings some awful lows; a nauseating cliché.
That sex driven back beat fills the morning air,
breathing life into a season with such characteristic low humidity and morale.
Trolling for spies and false pride.
That bronzed stare peers through all department store illusions;
a view of unbearable pain secured just beneath the surface.
Oh baby please believe me, I've got the scars to prove it.
We've become a trademark of such repeated reluctance to read between the lines.
Add Comment