I hate this plastic
This glass screen and its even more plastic surrounding
And this finger tapping keyboard
With its alphabet and numbers
So dead until I touch them
They do not have one iota of conveyance in their spirit
Until you know the pits to where passion can descend
For it’s waiting and wanting
How can it write out your soul
Blank pages of pretty verse and prose
But impalpable and palpable tourniquets
In constrictions so placeless
Should they wrench and how do they yank
Confiscate the entrails of dreams
And leave you dragging and demanding
And for all your lungs would burst
Screaming
Into the void of a night you can’t remember
Stars and Gods can’t you hear me !
Can’t you see how torn apart
I love her !
But do they care
Plastic
This smooth lifeless excuse for touch
And computerised pixels through glass
Blank
Black on white lines
Say so much but don’t do too much
Behind the programmers masterpiece of electrical binary
It’s an emotional suicide
An excuse for skin
A replacement for hands and lips and breasts
Sweat and hot hard heavy breathing
A mere doppelganger for eventually leave me
In this presence of alone-ness
Plastic cripple of computerised loveless
Just the Internet
That’s all it is
In a defile and hate of compressed
Plastic
Just a lynch pin
And a hangman’s noose
To dangle yourself with
Just love in an airway of satellites
Paid for by monthly direct debits
Submission Name: Emotional Suicide
