PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

28 minutes until its dead, 

I'm effectively cut off,

from my self molestation,

my social status updates, 

my what's what, and what's coming

From all of the women I won't lay

They will never ever get to know me

But my tired stroking motions fill that role

what, too much info?

I told you 26 minutes and I'm fucked

forced to face the real world

at least until I find my cord

then it is plug, zip, power up and I'm on again

boobies, poetry, sci-fi and pop up ads

And things are binary and untouchable

like my life, my sexual prowess is 0's and 1's 

because they don't bitch, 

they don't measure and compare, or complain

this doesn't feel right.

They light up my eyes, and do as I like

and that thought, that very admitance is pathetic

If only I lived in the real world 

the same way I comfortably negotiate and utilize 

this online persona, of incognito browser windows

and social mental health issues.