The Hands of Ennui

There is an affliction
A modern addiction
The existential crisis

Of watching paint dry

As we post our perfect pictures
And compare them
To other peoples perfect lives
And all our dreams are on

I am losing interest
In all these senseless
Where opinion
Is a soulless deity

When did the desire for peace
Become a war machine?
When I just want to be

An insidious presence
Endless divisiveness
We mow our lawns
And wonder where the true rebels
Have gone

Our moments
Have become a camera flash
A digital photograph

The hands of ennui
Are at my throat
My voice negated
As soon as I could speak


By an anachronistic generation

That lynched the American dream

But still demands that I beieve

The hope of my generation
Is a glutton

We were absurd enough
To think we would find unity
But this world is shrieking
A perpetual echo chamber

Where ignorance plays dress up

As accuracy

Yet so few…
Are willing to be

Inconvienced enough to change

And I just want to be


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