Plastering The Interweb With Fragmented Thought

Plastering the interweb with fragmented thought Cultivating an insane kind of fame Convincing an illiterate society That you’re more than just a silly name Penning out frivolously piddly odes Basking in the lack of their attention span Trying so hard to be cool, plus Your slams make me not want to give a damn The barely legible equivalent of an Insta-model Don’t you know, writers write & speakers squeak A farce played out in bits & bytes Preying on the vapid, the stupid & the weak You’ve grown your hipster beard You fancy yourself as suave & dapper But I know your dirty little secret That you’re no PaRappa the Rapper

I’m Tired Of Being So Dry

I’m tired of being so dry
In need of an outlet to release my brain
Creativity gone; leaving me stagnant
Building into a wreck of anxiety & pain

My thoughts stunted by vapid feelings
Finding myself too tense, filled with stress
Needing to drink from restorative waters
Like those I found under her dress

The Voices Come Calling

The voices come calling

Like shattered visitors in the night

Darkness expunged within thought

Auditioning words; trying to get it right

Vapid orations coming from the podium

Stacks of the wrong books & loose leaf notes

The dumbing down makes a tedious existence

But ideas are the traditional spark of an antidote

It’s A Sparse Paradise These Days

It’s a sparse paradise these days

Feeling another season coming on

Not supposed to feel like this

At least that’s the way we’ve been drawn

She’s still the poor pretty rich girl

Never could get off the same page

Repeated struggles to survive

Tripping on my lines; a vapid stage

Reality is an emotion detached from my soul

You never needed everyone to love you

Instilled confidence to merely exist

Forethought is a luxury that might just be true

Transcripts of the past’s failures

We’ve learned, but not out of society’s grip

False starts & then some

Rising, but we’re still not quite hip