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Seanathon Feb 3
Stare, but don't stop
You are unlike any living screen
Tune out your mind from the memory of self
In a mirror that this you will never be seen
Why is it so, that we hate ourselves
So much so that we must look away
And into the nothingness of ironic things
That we spend our time starting at screens away
The January Lasts

Taliesin Jan 7
Electric snakeskin
Draped, casting green-grey shadows
Over the pine trees
Carter Ginter Nov 2018
I sit in front of the tv
Brainwashed into thinking
That this monotonous existence
Constitutes living
I feel my mind screaming
For something more engaging
Instead of the useless stuff
Seeping from my screen
Sometimes the only breaks I take
Are just me looking from that screen
To another smaller version in my hand
I feel exhausted emotionally
Unable to engage in many things
But I refuse to give these screens
This kind of power over me
I am a human being
Not a lifeless creature
I need to find something better
To break this habit that's killing my creativity
It's killing my energy
My motivation
My attention span
And I will not have it
Not anymore
I will find something more satisfying
More promising in engagement

And then I wonder
Is this what it was like
When books were first written?
Or is this unique to electronic media?
Mark Parker Jan 2018
Words spoken are breathed to life,
but then burnt up in a fiery blaze,
instead I carve it with a putty knife,
but still it never catches a single gaze.

I write it on the walls and bright screens,
hoping it will gain an audience's favor,
without a care they drop what it means,
each one imagining a different flavor.

Aggressively I pushed to bring change,
without a cause behind each sound,
while shoving myself through each exchange,
I found myself circularly round.
Seanathon Jan 2018
When did our altered
   culture decide
     that WE
       would be happy
         with our little screens
           and such little stillness
             within our lives
Sad really
Madison Y May 2017
white lace and
fishnet stockings, baby
soft lips and wide
green eyes. she ain't naive,
she's resourceful, using
what God gave her. burns
cigarettes like incense,
just to make dust
fall on the shiny redwood
dresser, float like
ghosts in the air. it's how
she knows ghosts
are real—how she knows
she's real.
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