Modern Life Is Harming Us

Parades of gaunt and airbrushed people sell 

narcotic, plastic, day and night attire

to accent our pride and starve our reason–

until it fails, like cheap, corroded wire.

Investment makers march to war each day,

in tailored armor, cheating friend and foe,

their stomachs full of gold and greedy worms, 

their heads enriched with cysts and asses’ ears. 

We worship backlit screens that damn our brains,

and stroll on toughened glass that shreds our souls. 

We’re pixel junkies, numbed beneath the ribs—

our dreams collapse and crash through bleeding holes. 

We’re building towers made of circus trash,

with walls so dense and thick, they can conceal

the weeping, newborn human trapped inside— 

we sold ourselves for trades that kisses seal.

Releasing rage to punish small faux pas, 

the prigs crusade against unconscious sins: 

these moral vultures pick our cultures clean—

nothing left behind, but scraps for bins. 

Our gravestones shimmer under neon’s glow— 

excuses carved, explaining why we left

our dreams forlorn, our precious lives unspent:

our true potential crushed, our hearts bereft. 

My friends, I urge you, don’t neglect to live,

to truly love, to care, to freely give.