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?”