By any measure of truth
the typical TV news program now ranks
on about the same level as most commercials--
without the money-back guarantee.

WHY DO I LIVE IN THIS FANTASY DRIVEN WORLD

WHY DO I THINK THAT WHEN YOU’RE IN THE SAME TOWN AS ME FOR ALL OF 30 MINUTES THAT YOU’RE JUST MAGICALLY GOING TO SHOW UP AT MY DOOR AND WANT ME BACK

WHY DO I LET MYSELF GET SAD OVER THE FACT THAT YOU’RE NOT ACTUALLY GOING TO SHOW UP

WHY DO I ALLOW MYSELF TO BE CONDITIONED BY THE TV SHOWS AND MOVIES WHERE THIS IS A NORMAL THING

I LIVE IN THE REAL WORLD AND STUFF LIKE THIS DOESN’T JUST HAPPEN

I LIVE IN THE REAL WORLD AND STUFF LIKE THIS DOESN’T JUST HAPPEN

Bret Dec 2017

Hollow screams run like rivers through brick and mortar.
Rotting wood and a melting sun keep the apples from ripening.
I tried to love her clean
But the rain kept coming and I can't swim.
The cowards way out
But a part of me would rather never play
Than see my loss through. A staring match with my fingernails
But I hate losing so I don't.

We're all a bit sick, and I've come to terms with it but I've seen enough TV to make me think I'm a doctor when really I'm just trying to forget that nobody can love me like the act I put on.

too much lol? Happy holidays
Mars Dec 2017

I cannot turn away
before being judged.
Entertained by the way
this one I have seen.
Nothing but a gentle nudge
in the wrong direction.
Show us how to deny biology
and amplify our persecution.
Illogical technology
in you we trust.
Forgive me for I have sinned.
I give my undying lust
to your electric skin.

Adam Robinson Dec 2017

Do you know how hard it was to watch you on TV?
I saw it all again in a blue rush
The smoke from a cigarette blown just in from the garden door
Your broken needles and stupid little games littering the floor
A black coffee and a dusty bed
Us talking for hours while the sun falls and rises from the dead
Crowed parties of your own design
You looking at me from them
A gulf in a crowd
Making me laugh in my small crimes
We liked the way our dreams worked
Together in each other's bedrooms
Floating in your eyes I see the soul spin
Of heavenly physics clouded in fun and evil
To see all that in your face
Is not to see God
or even any abject grace
But its been a year
and you're talking to the interviewer
Shepherded and meek
Cared for another I see it all in that week
You're Talking to the TV
rather than at me
The grass is rarely greener
sights of when you see her
Alone and discarded,
I see you now on the screen
Eyes so hollow
near your bike -- you're so lean
It was painful and insufferable
the inhumanity of your stare
I'm killed by cruelty
or even maybe by my silence
You're talking to the TV
Rather than to me
But my tears are becoming moonlight
one day they'll be sunlight
then just light
A violent light of my own
And not light dredged up from you.

Get Out Of My Head
Adam Robinson Dec 2017

Looking through heavens eyes,
I can see that motion picture highlight.
Over and over,
Like an opal dream inside the TV screen.
It's curves and swirls,
drawing us in,
Maybe in another life I won't fall,
But I'll leave it all up to you,
In passion or fright,
Down passages never took,
Through gardens we daren’t not look,
Into burning books,
5 deaths maybe more,
To make a serenade of hearts beat forever,
Inside plastic cages or outside on our hill,
The flow of hearts is endless.
Self-made or self-inflicted,
They come with no choice,
It's a mirror between mirrors,
a look within a look,
a glance within a kiss,
a fever without hope,
And we're all stuck in them,
Like vanities in glass,
Inside magazine portraits to smash.

Get Out Of My Head
mythie Dec 2017

Everywhere I go.
I get foul looks.
Looks of pity.
None I care for.

"His parents..."
"He's gay?"
Yes.
Yes.

I sit at the television.
Flipping through channels.
The broadcasts.
The audience.

The bruises that mark my skin.
"Fucking loser."
"Not even going to fight back?"
Are a reminder of my trauma.

I'm friends with the colorbars on the television.
The red, yellow, green and blue.
The black, white and grey hues.
The static that seems to scream my name.

I am left with a single rose.
I don't know where it came from.
Or where it goes.
But it's my rose.

I can't take the beatings any longer.
I'm sorry to her, my best friend through this all.
I can't do this anymore.
I can't do anything.

I engrave my skin.
Line by line.
Until three deep strokes mark my wrist.
I feel dizzy but don't sleep.

She asks me where I've been.
I hide my wrists and smile at her.
She looks at the bruises on my face.
She angrily frowns.

I'm sorry to her, my best friend through it all.
It's just too hard.
I can't hold on.
So I leave you my rose.

The flower beside your bed.
The bright red rose that stained everything.
Crimson gushes from my wrists, from my neck.
It tastes metallic.

I'm happy now.
I smear it all over the TV screen.
Now I can become one with my friends.
Come on, play with me.

the middle.
rachel huberty Dec 2017

i know that you watch t.v.
all the time to drown out
the sound of your pain
but can you please see me?
just ask how i'm doing?
this house is not a home
and you're one of the reasons

mythie Nov 2017

I stand tall, smiling manically through a TV screen.
Static amidst the broadcast, what a wonderful scene.

Turn up the volume, I'm showing the death of a nation.
Stand up and yell, dance in formation.

I open my third eye, I can see it all.
Turn around and around, everyone will fall.

They watch with their eyes glued.
No matter what they do, they're all screwed.

They sway two and fro.
A telecast promoting vertigo.

I raise a blade to my throat and sing a chorus.
Black chords all around like liquorice.

They stare hypnotised at the television show.
I cut my throat and blood starts to flow.

I open my third eye, I can see it all.
Turn around and around, everyone will fall.

The screen cuts to static. A washed out town.
For a mere moment, I was their king. I wore a crown.

I lay on the floor of the studio, bleeding out.
I hurt them all, my mind has no doubts.

But I smile and laugh, coughing up red.
Those bastards won't forget the things they said.

Mohamed Nasir Nov 2017

She's a crazy blonde and she's funny
She can do no right and she can do no wrong
An astronaut and a 2000 year old genie
In a bottle and somehow they've to get along

Barbara Eden and Larry Hagman are the stars
Of the show hilarious in awkward moments
"Is my master upset with me?" She always asks
Yet coy when he can get whatever he wants

Winks and nobs transformed in the blink of an eye
Appear or disappear "your wish is my command"
Or "master I'm at your service." She'd say but sly
Pony tailed girlish genie often can't comprehend

Master's orders disobeyed as he acts a fool
Uncorrupted innocently gazed hands in my chin
On deserted island genie scantily clad beautiful
I was too young to know to wish for to imagine

Original Black and White 1965 tv sitcom that I enjoyed watching so much.
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