Untitled

Light gray
Misty
This, the only day I get to spend
being lonely.
No, alone.
My thoughts unclouded by the ceaseless droning of
computer-generated
automatic, social-seeming contact day and night.
I unplug my compulsion to
interact
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
emotionally —
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