The Slow Isolation of White Space

cough cough.
snap snap snap.
get going, get going, get going.
please move on, please move on.

go ahead and cancel it.
charge it on mine!
put it in the suede bag.
place my shoes in there please.

a policy in GPO land.
symbol q.n in exchange 438 xrp.

I am subscribed, prescribed, derided.
How many words do I hear each day?
How many new words do you hear each day?
If only I could speak new words each day,
breathe new life, stop tapping my head
not knowing what the next will be.
Can I start to know it all, be familiar,
get rid of what I don't need?

Exclusions instead of inclusions?
Break loose instead of hang tight?
Distribute instead of consume?

We're media loons after all.

Hi, I am this poem. Don't read me.
You're wasting your time and you're wasting mine.
Because of you, I still exist, an idea in a head
somewhere is what I am.

This poem makes no sense, ehh?
There is nothing about it that binds it.
Its just a way to pass time,
mental masturbation,
real horror-show.

Go to sleep, my author already did that,
why are you still awake?
Leave me alone already! For god's sake, its wrong
monitoring and following me like this.

Just turn the page, click the button or
do whatever the fuck else it is you have to do.
Tuck me away somewhere, let me rest,
let me vanish, disintegrate, perish.

Let me be (me).