Tomorrow keeps coming
but the grass is never greener
nor the air any less of a poison
humans any less of a plague
everyone suffers, everyone struggles
no one is special, unless you’re on T.V
then people wonder, why people jump off bridges
question the slit wrists of youth
interpret the blood and brain matter of the once innocent
like any modern art, in any MOMA
spectators whisper speculation, as body after body enters the earth
feigning guilt, and offering cheap obligatory condolancies to the bareaved
when deep in the recesses of their brain is the answer
a memory of when that person, now meat
called to them for help
but they aren’t on T.V
and you aren’t at church
