2017- The year of laughs
Late night stories
Told under stars
Sand under toes
And fire in our eyes

2017- the year of deaths
Young friends
Taken too early
Afraid to speak
Failed attempts
Of a hopeless boy
And thankful prayers

2017- the year of heartbreak
What was thought to be love
Swept away by others
Who should have stepped back
A fresh start
With a new face
Only to be forgotten

2018- The year of new starts
New faith
New love
New holds
New mind

We are absorbed
From one click of a button
To 5 hours of life
Reliving a cycle every day
Thinking it can’t get any better
The more followers
The better life
Only posting what you want
And not letting them see the other sides
Pictures only there for a moment
Then washed away never to be seen again
When moments could be spent better
Long lasting moments
With no worry of a time limit
Instead we are made robots
Dependant on 5 inches
Missing what life has to offer
Too afraid to leave them at home
Because you you may miss a notification
You never cared about anyway
Making life easier every generation
Thinking the only way to make friends
Is by chatting online
Getting a reply
But waiting 5 minutes
Because we are too afraid of seeming desperate
Walking right past someone
Who you could have shared your life with
But instead your head was faced to the floor
But of course
The floor is more important than a person
But this item smaller than your hands
Somehow gained a power to control us
Hooked us into this trap
That is too late to run away from
Forgetting the date and saying it didn’t remind me
Will be the only excuse
And family, friends, and people
Will no longer be an option
Soon we will all walk around with tubes in our ears
And goggles over our eyes
Seeing a virtual world that must be greater than what we were given
Meeting people but never seeing them
But it’s fine
Because we have all we need between 5 inches

I'm a little
mEsSy
I wish I weren't
but I can't help it
  CLEAN
   isn't heard often
things shoved
     u
     n
     d
     e
     r
      and hidden just enough
    to call it
done
                but not clean enough
                                             to call it
                                                         TIDY
                                                            ­  I write in frag-
                                                           ­                          ments
                                                          w­hatever I say
                                   seems to
                     B•R•E•A•K
or
f
a
l
l
my brain is always
                  S
  C
         A
                              T
             T
E
       R
                        E
D
but what do I know?
That's all im
used to