Have you ever watched someone
look at themselves in the mirror?
It's heartbreaking.
They never see what you see.
But that's why it's important for you to be there.
To make them feel beautiful.
Like someone cares.

I liked to see him suffer
because he used to watch me.

There is nothing better than watching
a man’s feelings getting shattered
after he shattered yours.

"places near you..."

faces near you?

     stop pretending

          that they can't hear you...

you're in clear view

& they're following you too

why are there cameras everywhere I go?
     what are they recording?
          what are they watching?
               why are they watching us?

why are there cameras in every room?
why are they recording everything we do?
why are they watching the things I do?
& when was my debut?*
     (be careful, they're watching you too)

cookies & cachéd data,
digitally-programmed privacy paraphernalia
     are carefully collecting information
     following your confirmation
     to allow the invasion
     of all forms of personal communication

((( it’s hard to ignore the intimidation
of the internet’s alluring intoxication )))

     but between you&me
     life beyond a screen
     never felt so free,
     an anti-digital reality,
     life in an unmonitored galaxy
     is something     only the mind can dream
                    # # # # #

Though not blinded, they saw all that was before them.
For within every length did a life linger.
Never ones to trim a singular moment they just
brush each moment delicately everyday..

For if not, tangled breath would linger to dead roots.
They were methodical in there daily routine.
But sometimes no matter the care, follicles do depart
and gently fall for an eternity, expired strands fade.

Collecting on every observation, tears do fall.
catching on strands gifting moments of longevity.
They see our every moment, contemplating our
decisions, never wording, only watching our lives

An unblinking eye arises and hides behind the tainted clouds in the painted sky.
I see it crawl beneath the surface,
Gazing into the images I thought I had buried alive.
It's peaking through the dirt where he decadently sits,
Staring behind bars of dust with his razor eyes glaring at my wrists.
Where my innocence slept itself to death,
And cradled its soul beneath stacks of broken stems of the mind.