How I loathe thee

The internet; such a fascinating invention. Boundless and near impenetrable, full of horrors and delights, almost un-thought of and largely unconfounded. I dawdled on the internet to distract myself from sleep, and to take a look at the multitude of faces and people I might find. There's so many people more beautiful than you. But what of success and aspiration? Are they nestled deep within this? And less often than people do- I search for myself, and find I do not exist, under any moniker I might try. Will I find only fledgling success for my invisibility?

We believe in our precious lies

and consider they’re worth

telling the ones we love,

so we love to tell

and our faces beam

or hide,

in false display

and haughtily,

but we don’t exist

in person or conversation,

just whispers like myths

and notes passed ‘twixt hands

each one of us

lacking density.

Now our atoms glow and hum

like actors on T.V. screens,

we live to be seen

and the internet…

…Oh, how you’ve killed us!