This, the only day I get to spend
My thoughts unclouded by the ceaseless droning of
automatic, social-seeming contact day and night.
I unplug my compulsion to
as though the manufactured messages hold meaning
far beyond clear surface wants
of sellers, buying. It's demeaning.
Feigning friendship simply for
the opportunity to twist my thinking
principally, for your gain. My loss has no significance.
Your bottom line aligns with goals, projections
superseding glimpses of your fading, once childlike, vibrant humanity.
Too late to change your plan.
Too soon to fully conquer
insecurities which prompt my quick return
else I be left behind, forgotten.
Once light neutrals turn to black.
— Kenya D. Williamson