You log in and out of Facebook three times a minute. You’re always agitated, got the jitters even while sitting down. What do you even get high on? Your friends stopped returning your calls? Good for them, you’re gone weeks at a time, doing fuck all. Yeah, that’s right, you heard me. All the important shit you’re doing, God knows where, that’s just an addiction, and I know you see it too.

You’re constantly distracted ’cause you can’t be fucked to face your own shit. That’s fair, but don’t drag other people into it. It’s your shit to dig through, don’t go scattin’ all over people.

It’s an invisible leash tied around your neck. Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it ain’t there. You’re constantly looking up shit, waiting for messages, checking your phone, logging into your mail – do you really think you can even remotely keep up with what happens in a second around the world?


You’re like a chained, sad puppy – that’s why people think you’re cute, why they wanna take you in and help you, but inevitably you’re just sad. A sad, fucking dependence story. A lost cause.

Oh yeah, that’s right, keep your eyes peeled on the phone, don’t look at me, cause you might have to face an actual human being.  And who can tell if you’re still able to deal with that. I sure can’t.

You constantly talk about doing a hundred things at once, but take a look at what you actually get done: jack shit. A thousand tabs open and you read the first paragraph, at best. Yeah you better save that for later.

And there it is, your leash, dragging you through your life, keeping you from actually living cause you’re all pre-occupied, keeping up or whatever it is you do. It’s really a lifeline to you, I know, a reason to not face yourself and risk going out blazing. That’s all good, just keep doing it, no judgements. But just don’t ask me what to do when the world is over. I’ll be gone then, guns blazing, no seat belt.


Professional circus clown turned Liberal Arts major and anarchist.

Posted in Poetry

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