At a modular speed
our emotions decline
growing bitter near a grape vine.
I ask of your words to speak
kindly to my ears
but all I see are the typed out words.
I cannot help that my brian ties knots
around a substantial trail that soon
will rot. What am I doing?
I have done it all wrong again.
Every wrong answer to an
intelligent, thoughtful question.
Give me an encyclopedia on emotions
and human interactions.
I will study.
Nothing can compare to the true
confrontation to an intimidating figure
full with a face, a bright complexion,
and complex reactions.
How do I read you?
You have no pages.
Diaries are hidden from view.
I give up so easily and you mistake
that for abuse.
What do I do
when my smile disappears?
I am overrun with information from this
digital era.
I cannot cope with what society spews,
like sewage and grim interlocking with mine.
A book is what I crave,
but the bright screen of a laptop
is tempestuous.
I am an inner-workings of a clock,
an unfulfilled pile of glum.
Please refer to the top of the poem
to read again....
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