There’s this weight on
your soul and it brings
out the worst in you.

The more you go
against it all the closer you
come to imitating it. So
individual and yet so alike.

Force fed ideas of hope
and life eternal, so ingrained.

We are immortal through
mementos on screens
wrapped in webs and data.

Hollow bowls feed empty
souls strung out on fantasy.
Vanity, it’s in your veins.