Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.

They wrap a bag in a big bad bow,
silk that sparkles in the day’s reflected wonder,
blue that shimmers and waits to plays outside.
Instead the bag hides a steaming pile.
I spit rage and bile cause that vile
package is just one
more piece of purchased *******
one more perfect present
to present
a fake pre-constructed sentiment
of pre-ordered individuality.
It is consumerism, our kryptonite,
which is slowly destroying
curiosity and morality.

You may drink
To obscure your pain
Play videos games
Chat on Facebook
Immerse yourself
In other social media
Watch movies, TV
And YouTube videos
Chasing novelty

Going after
That consumer high
From the merchandise
You buy

But in time
The silence will find you
And the anguish you were blind to
Will consume you to

Till, the pharmaceutical companies own you
Because you have to
Take so many anti-depressants
Just to get through
One more day

My debt-ridden past,
More than I asked.

The transactional present
Less pleasure, more torment.

An easy-payments future
More payments not fewer.

So many give-aways
At a price I can never pay.

It's new-consumerism
With the soft bite of fascism.
And I'm badly infected now.

Slumping over their shopping carts
like porpoises on parade.
Baskets overflowing with
fritos, doritos, and sugar-ade.

Reckless the dream that changed
what they couldn't,
to swim through foil bars
soaring from cash to vein.
Girl with scissors, cutting hair,
to reach a new brain.

Sofa-living, so much thwarting
thoughts of inadequacy.
Streams of image, money
-- and American Honey,
I think you are fine
the way you hurt.

What is the use of a human being?
A human doing.
That loves the thrill of the purchase.
To consume and reproduce.
With total belief and dependence
on the system that keeps
us mind-locked.
When we all can be, and do,
so much more.
But for now the future
lays behind a self-locked door.

Money melting in a spoon,
let's shoot it into our veins.
Flashing Kardashian lights,
streaming into our brains.
Donald Trump! He's our man!
Mark Muslims is the plan!

All-you-can-eat-
Pile. It. The. ****. High.
When you walk or
When you talk,
let the words squeak out
like they're between
Your thighs.

Thighs. American thighs,
Dreaming next to our Calvins.
Our slacktivism, our regurgitated ideas
spitballing out of our McDonald's mouths
into our peers' ears, distilled by years
And years of "almost-knowledge"
that we quasi-ascertained,
if we knew what that meant --
but we've been left behind!
No child left the **** behind!
We were left behind and there's no
possible way we slacked off, that we're dumb,
that we aren't the movie stars destined for
Lamborghini cars, five-star bars, designer bodies
for designer you and designer me:
the most special of the unique, the
Pearls that have been made in the
darkest parts of the sea, the darkest parts of
origin. Origin. ******. ****.
American ****: virginal ideals sliding around
the muck of a marketable ****, fuckfest,
******* of the American mind, the
congratulations of the American ego,
the proud mother and father tears associated with
buying and lying, "trying" and frying our food,
our ideas, our friends, our neo-impressionistic
children in Jordans, skinny jeans, on tumblr:
the unknowing cousin of Fox News, surprised
by its own wit and wisdom: they're ******* twins.
Carbon copies, unknowing, unwilling, un-un-un.

The romanticism of mental illness.
The close-up of reality-tv emotion.
The manipulation taught to servers
from managers.
The manipulation taught to customers
from society.

All we care about is ****, image, and ***.
Self-preservation: **** Donald Trump
and *******.

Corporate engineering with slight color variations
and logo imprintations do not impress me.
Assembly lines do not find or make time
to free the proletariat’s enslaved mind.
They just distract us with delusions of
capitalistically designed versions of individuality.
The fact is unbridled greed can only collapse this
mad consumer society,
because selfishness subtracts the humanity
that got us to this age in the first place.

I
Don't
Have
Enough
Poetry
Books.

I
Don't
Have
Enough
Poetry.

I
Don't
Have
Enough.

I
Don't
Have.

I
Don't.

I.