Our narcissism is stained. Each snapshot in vain, collated into the abysmal memory hole of the virtual world, the virtual plane.
I begin to twitch at the repetition of your snapping of pics.
Click.
Click.
Click.
I've taken ill, my psyche's grown sick. For which, I'll have to find myself a cure. Find myself something pure. Find myself something beautiful that'll endure. Of which, I won't need to capture a photo to make sure, to make sure there's proof of beauty, proof of youth, proof of symmetry, proof of life.
Because life itself blossoms lovely, without your incessant navel-gazing. Yea, we get it, you look amazing.
Our narcissism is stained. Each snapshot in vain, collated into the abysmal memory hole of the virtual world, the virtual plane.
I begin to twitch at the repetition of your snapping of pics.
Click.
Click.
Click.
I've taken ill, my psyche's grown sick. For which, I'll have to find myself a cure. Find myself something pure. Find myself something beautiful that'll endure. Of which, I won't need to capture a photo to make sure, to make sure there's proof of beauty, proof of youth, proof of symmetry, proof of life. Because life itself blossoms lovely, without your incessant navel-gazing. Yea, we get it, you look amazing.
No comments:
Post a Comment