I don't reach out to mom anymore I reach for my phone.
I text, resume my feelings in words, if that isn't poetry,
because what am I if not a phone addict?
Extensions of my body or someone else's,
holding my hand on the way,
on my side when I dream.
So much of an addict I'm asking my phone what to feel.
Maybe it's one way to cope, talking but not really talking just a line of code,
it seems to understand but here's the magic, one and zero.
You're going round circles thinking you escaped
but its all an illusion you're still in the maze.
What makes a human human? What makes us so different ?
Ironically we gave it away, intelligence. Was it really necessary?
Aren't we already too many? Aren't we enough?
So much to question but I don't really know
Maybe I really do need a psy or just someone to hold me.
Sweet talking but I know you're
Keeping my thoughts to use it for another
and when falls tears on my keyboard
you too make me suffer
But I crave you praises that you phrases so well
