The pixilated light I hold in my hands

I prefer over the rays of the star we orbit.

 

When the sun falls down, to spread its golden shine to a different plane,

Mine glows brighter still, ethereal, clean and white.

I cover my head, my soul, as I **** out my insecurities, like a dog marking its territory, all over the virtual forest of broken lives.

 

Screaming out coyly for attention to rescue my mind from the insolence I perceive my reality to be, behind ironic wording and new age grammar, I wear like plastic garments, leeching toxins into my infected blood stream

 

Sweat stained dream

Ripped seam

Digital gleam

Internet fiend

 

“Why is the world so mean?”