I call myself a poet but
I'm sure I should anymore
Pen used to touch paper
and out flowed flowers and ink
and something that meant something
But my mind has been disgustingly blank
absorbed in blue light and my eyes
going gray, there's no feeling less
than the dopamine slowly
leaking out my pores, this addiction is spreading
from my hands to yours
the depression is flowing
fatalities growing
zombie-like stares leaving you empty and boring
they promised a cure
but there's too much exposure
and we'll never learn
from the warnings they told us
there's nothing to lose when
you're already too much
So come, become less
in this endless abyss
that boasts individuality
but instead brings the kiss
of standards and shadows
expectations to meet
Dopamine fixes and blue light withdrawals
this warm apocalypse
where you don't know you're
dying