I reach out into the screen's static,
yearning for a taste of the rotten honey lives of their
infinite soap operas.
A desolate room brimming with emptiness,
heavy in fierce fragility,
the gloom swallowing the screen
that swallows my stare.
A black, inescapable kingdom
of a lonely queen - a prisoner, free
in the hurricane arms of a world that won't pause to consider
this small being.
Succeeding in a never-ending reality show and I'm
watching from the shadows of a desolate room brimming with emptiness,
yearning to pull the plug and watch as their faces flicker to oblivion
and surrender to the customary comfort of shadows
as I surrender
reach past a web of escapisms and lies and Instagram likes
and open a curtain.
And behind the glass is the promise of their open palms,
waiting for me to step over the threshold
into a world of welcome.