It's the end
Of the world
As we know
It, so how
Do you know it?
Did you gather all
Your knowledge from
Radio broadcasts or
Did you spend time
Devouring the
Pamphlets of Paine
And Hamilton and Adams or
Did you sell your
Soul to the world
Wide web in exchange for
Little finger pin ****** of
Dopamine every few
Clicks and whistles?
How is brunch treating you?
Do you know
How to eat an apple or
That they exist?
What finish did you pick
For your gold toilet seat?
Do you have enough money
To buy food to eat?
The cats growl at each other outside,
Fighting off the heat.

Spoonfuls of honey exist
Within the heat death apocalypse but
My mouth still tastes like
The lingering scent of quarters
Leaving sweaty palms
After swallowing the sweet
Sugar down, as
Distracting as it is.
I distract myself from
Something(s) in my use of
Metaphor, but what?
The answer lies beneath the
Underbelly of some suburban
Monster with concrete teeth and
A camouflage of fleshy forest,
Frying like a hot egg in the sun
Behind corporate warehouses and
A strip mall where all of the shops
Are owned by the same person.

To see or not to, to be or not to?

Humanity could not collectively
Know all of the history we
Ourselves have constructed,
Let alone the dynamics of the
Cell mother planet or the
Secrets of the whispering cosmos.
We tipped the point a long time ago,
And we now sit back and enjoy
Our euphoric hallucinations before
Death by drowning.
It could be death by
Auto-****** asphyxiation, but
Who's to say until
We see the autopsy report?
Maybe we should have another
Done by an outside source...
Outside solo flyer questioning
The ubiquitous while existing
As an insider in trench coat and
Fake moustache feels faulty for
Not yelling from the fringe in.

I would like to factory reset my phone.

The internet lets us know what
We know that
Others know about us
While blocking us from ourselves.
Balance and moderation,
Sure yes just fine,
But please define those
Words in the language
Of the twenty first century.
Shall we fail to mention daily that
Our rivers, oceans, and streams
Bubble with reminders of
Our own mundane mediocrity?
Shall we continue to pretend
We don't see that we can see?

To see or not to, to be or not to?

To breathe in hot glue,
Death by acrid smoke and
A broken bottle,
Or a slow decline
Into madness by
The hands of a
Pixelated Nosferatu
Coming out of the screen
To haunt you,
Vibrating under your pillow,
Strangling your lucid dreams?