My words bunch up in my throat.
I want to comfort people with my words, sweet as honey,
But they're too thick to come out.
I finally get them out, but they're weak and useless.
How do I get them out?

My touch falters.
I try to reach out and help with a gentle touch,
But it lands awkward and uncomfortable,
People edge away not wanting to be touched by me.
How do I fix my touch?

My eyes betray.
I try to tell stories through my eyes,
To spare people my words, that stick like honey,
I look to try and keep my poisoned hands away from them,
But all they display is hurt and sadness.
How do light them?

My writing helps.
I write down all the thoughts that stick like honey.
I try to touch the reader's heart with my words.
I hide behind a screen so they don't have to see my eyes filled with sadness.
How do I do this without a screen and keyboard?

Press continue.
Click OK.
Go on, please,
say you'll stay.

Swipe once more,
take one more look.
It won't take much more,
to know you're hooked

Sit a while longer,
the signal's still strong.
There's no better offer,
you know you belong.

Don't go out now.
Don't wash and shave.
Don't deny what you need
here in your cave.

We love that you're here,
you know we'll be true,
all night and all day
we'll be here for you.

You don't need daylight,
it's brighter in here.
That's right, sit back,
you're safer right here.

The screen is blank
Waiting for an input.
I sit there and ponder; thing after thing.
I give in and move, pressing key after key.

Fingers moving ever so carefully,
Pressing keys as if the movements are watched by crowds.
Hours and hours later, it is finally done.
The screen is blank

I'm enslaved to a screen.
I can't remember wether I am a human being or not.
I've spent my days in solitude spreading my attitude through cyber space.
We all have a pretty face on the line.

Bring me back to reality where faces are larger than thumbs.
You're my number one avatar, lift me up, keep my eyes from staring at this world I never anticipated.
Keep me safe from all the hatred no one takes credit for and what's more I'll shield your eyes from the machine.

Our time is on the line, our time, is, on, the, line.

Black glass
Hugged by plastic.
A rigid, shiny stone,
Holy and smooth as silk.

It calls upon you.
Its dark face glowing with glee,
its still form
trembling in tantrum.

Eyes gawk eagerly while
dexterously trained fingers
Slide their grease-stained trail
across its blossoming surface,
trapped in vanity.
A technological marvel,
one might say,
it’s glistening roads worshipped and
Truly wondrous.

All the images: moving, smiling, addicting.
The knowledge of the universe, packed into
a tiny, plastic cocoon,
festering, growing, evolving,
eager to be eaten.

Endorsing gluttonous laze, and
Unmasking humanity’s
unseemly colors;
it lulls you in with its
digital spindle embrace, the
sharp strings of data
reaching in through the eyes and
touching the optic nerve.
Neurons swell in ecstasy, pupils dilate, the heart screams;
matter of the brain catches fire in
its electrical storm, and
cascades into chemical ******.

Satiating a toxic lust.
Brilliant glass
turns to black,
stuck to your hand like glue.