F(UCK)ear is stupid, and so am I(T)

Each moment I walk in the city

is chained by the rhythm of cars.

The tick of the clock counting down,

the tock of my money running out.

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I walk by a store full of clothes

and I pause to admire their glow.

"Pick me! Pick me! I'll make you feel pretty!"

The glow was from the hands that had sewed.

​

Eyes glued to the screen,

I miss my own scene

and the day passes by in a beat. 

I silently feel through desperate reels

to connect with my own fellow beings.

​

My attention is bleeding,

my heart marinating,

in a substance resistant to fear. 

​

Although I lay dormant,

I fight for the courage

to log on, log off, and repeat.