I want to pour myself on page
But I come across a cold landscape
the spark of electricity from me
attunes with that of the pc
In this digital world ,romance is lost
ink and paper relics to a insta post
Information overload cataclysm me
And I dont know how am I supposed to be
In the fringe of my consciousness my thougts reside
elusive,fleeting and hard to abide.
The cursor blinking mocks me
And in anger inspiration evokes me.
Maybe I ll make him my muse
And get inspiration whenever I choose.
This is how my poem is made
Like an emotional grenade.
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 5:05 PM UTC
I want to pour myself on page
But I come across a cold landscape
the spark of electricity from me
attunes with that of the pc
In this digital world ,romance is lost
ink and paper relics to a insta post
Information overload cataclysm me
And I dont know how am I supposed to be
In the fringe of my consciousness my thougts reside
elusive,fleeting and hard to abide.
The cursor blinking mocks me
And in anger inspiration evokes me.
Maybe I ll make him my muse
And get inspiration whenever I choose.
This is how my poem is made
Like an emotional grenade.
Request permission to use this poem