I rarely get on Facebook anymore. But when I do, I'll change my profile picture or banner-- maybe post a witty status update, maybe not witty, just something to let people know I'm alive.

It's like repositioning the arms on a stationary mannequin to depict a different scene. Except lately I just don't care anymore. It's just that-- a mannequin. An object, an image, a lifeless entity with which I used to feel real-- a dusty mirror.

I see that the line between the idea of a person and the reality is being blurred and crossing over into something all-together different. It's as if people are starting to wake up and realize the objectivity of their reality. But that brings into question the basis for which we define reality.

We have become a, “Look but don't touch” society in which we click a button to show our appreciation as opposed to genuinely reciprocating human emotion and energy. It is extremely isolating and dangerous.

Packed subways and sidewalks have fallen eerily silent with faces illuminated by their cellphones. Most everyone wants to be heard, appreciated and recognized and social media has provided an outlet for that.

But there comes a point at which your platform becomes your prison and your voice your warden-- and everything you say is modified to be pleasing to the ear and 'likeable'.

But I like dislikes. And if you're not ******* anyone off-- you're probably not doing anything important, and if you're not outraged you're not paying attention.

i wrapped myself in twirling circles
inside a redwood tree,
tall, burned and cascading all around
our shaking bodies,
a bundle of sage drifting through
patterns of golden
rain.

naked bodies swam in dark
water that slept under a drifting fog;
Newport filters made for tired fires,
driftwood instead.

emptied packs and emptied stomachs
threw themselves into
a waiting bed of blackberry brambles
scratched skin burned in
2 a.m. drifting shower steam.

now,
i am tired,
because i fed the fire within me
too much
and something is slightly missing,
left along with the charred remains of my
forgotten shirt,
on a riverbed that was once brutal,
but now held bare golden limbs.
it's probably lying somewhere
carefully disguised in
light and blowing leaves on
a dark forest floor,
but i haven't the energy to take it back.

bruised necks never swallow well.

i hate being ignored
but i do it to other people,
and
sometimes i just don't want to say anything
and when i do
i guess i say too much.

i'm mean and rude
and nobody want's to talk to me
because if they say something i don't like,
then i'll tell them
right away to stop saying it.

i haven't called my mother
in a while,
and people are telling me what to do.
i want to escape
and jump into freezing water

because when i come out i will
be extremely
numb
and i'll be able to feel the sun a little better

I guess when I talk
I say too much
I guess when I'm quiet
I don't say enough
Won't you take off your coat
Stay a while
Won't you take of your frown
Replace it with a smile

I guess when I write a word
It has to be sad
I guess when you write a sad word
I feel so bad
I don't want anyone to be
As unhappy as me
I don't want anyone to have to
Deal with pain like me

Your lips are black and blue
They look like the sky
But I know the truth
I see the pain in your eyes

You're beat till you're numb
You're hurt till you're broken
Nothing makes sense
Why is the world so cruel
I don't want you to see the world through my lense
I guess I'm just as hurt as you