I've succumb to the ages
I'll bleed static to the floor
Shouting for help no longer
consists of yelps & whines
I type frantically, "help me!"
sending an SOS to alert people
of my distress, though the cords
and cables confine, no time
to wait for the dial tone, or for mom
to come home, to blood on the carpet
so I'll shoot up my wireless salvation
praying for a reservation to a web of
crossing circuits in a tumbling spiral
as if my sickness were viral, I slip pills
for cheep thrills at my desk to expanses
greater than the day to day. I'm committing
myself, to a world wide cobweb, a dying
spider. We shrink from the sun, and
soon my speech consists of two and four
letter words: not curses but exclamations!
the voices heard are lyrical and god please
comment back--my photos are new (but I am
not). Press enter to exit your 9 to 5 and wel-
come the 2am crowd not at the club (at least
the one for dancing) we've got our own, soon
to be shown on a smaller silver screen. Face
coated in a glittery sheen, for I haven't seen
much for days, just curling up to call out.
The world is waiting for a reply via wi-fi
what will you be sending out?
"Help me!"