the idea

I'm the flimsiest foundation you could build a dream onto

If you pin all of your hope to me then it will go down when I do

'cause I'm the mere idea even beyond Galatea’s carver

What better way for idea to die than to die as a martyr?

Yet loose ends seem to always be the tightest of the tethers

‘cause the intangible won’t lend over any rope for me to sever

I don’t want to leave my legacy up to just anyone’s interpretation

‘cause nobody—not even I— could decipher my inner narration

Still, I want to jump out of my mind and crawl out of my skin

My sense of self is already dangerously paper thin

It'd be nice to have a place in this world that isn’t just a limbo

Except I don’t want to be known anymore

I think I'll close my windows

digital painkillers

trends squeeze themselves into the gaps that separate you from the rest

it's for the best

if we band-aid that stuck out sore thumb

and poke at you till you're numb

while the first place ribbon bleeds, pinned right to your chest

the tiara they gave you is far too tight

perhaps this screen is getting too bright?

i feel a headache coming on

and i start to feel withdrawn

but maybe the secret to that figure is to not eat much of that dinner

just keep it behind the camera lens

crave for online validation more than real friends

and swallow every digit like painkillers

constant filters are the eyes with which i see like the blind

and camera shutters scream at me to be more photogenic

it's quite pathetic

so i hit delete and scroll absentmindedly

double tap scroll and

double tap takes its toll

of fifty-four more likes for me

hours seem to escape and spend themselves on beach pics and edits playing tricks

on your perception and the conception of which boxes you must tick

follow these 5 beauty tips!

you only have to change every single bit!

with an aesthetic wrapped up nice and neat like a gift

or a product display

like buy into my facade today!

clouds of perfume make me choke and later so does the smoke

but the poison looks nice in our best wine glass

and one day when we pass

will our profiles be our legacies?

the new age electronic page of autobiographies

with slight plot changes and rewrites

and only share the highlights

to make our lives more interesting (are they even listening?)

for the pleasure (hopefully jealousy beyond measure) of these strangers

where's the danger of doing anything to earn their favour?

and measuring self-worth by the comments section's length

and lacking any mental strength

to give it up

is it ever enough?

aren’t you tired of all of this superficial stuff?

so log off now.

finally shut it down.

tales from the top shelf

the tales from the top shelf

don’t shine enough to be sold

and nor does their hope

of ever being told

because the dust that engulfs her

becomes suffocating,

her porcelain pose and limbs

are just left there waiting,

as the time melts away

into sunlight to sundown

and the world that she lives in

becomes the emptiest ghost town

for her pretty face

was still easily forgotten

and the cracks in the mask

are decayed and rotten

her stories lost to the very top shelf,

are fading as memories grow old.

she matters not to him, nor to herself,

for what’s a story if never told?