Flatline

About this time last year, I thought I knew what stress was,

as I walked through the iron gates of a gold and purple castle,

waiting for Nostradamus to tell me my fate,

taking classes that I thought I would hate.

That's where this all started, my self-epiphany,

my slow journey, towards a black mirror,

a year of useless rhetoric, and overbearing vocabulary.

Thousands type at their keyboards, or munch on their pencils,

for hours we sit and we think, in front of a screen or a piece of paper.

 

For hours we can be left alone, and driven to madness in our minds.

At first, you hear nothing. Solitude is never quiet in the beginning. 

Even in the light of a black mirror, clicking away at things that don't even exist,

we can talk to the world and still feel alone.

 

We can talk to someone and still feel like no one is around to be there for us.

We can be with someone, and feel like they aren't really there, 

because that's what our lives are like today.

We stare at screens for days upon end, we squabble over meaningless symbols,

and our memories are left to fade away on a phone or computer.

 

What feels more authentic, more real? Reading a conversation you've had with your friend,

Or simply being with them, so that you can see them smile?

You can hide so much behind a screen.

My hope is that my friends aren't hiding hate for me,

That they don't just pretend behind their keyboards and words,

But I am left to wonder, day after day after day,

if I am being tolerated or loved.

For hours, we can talk and still feel alone.

 

For hours, we can type to each other,

We can rethink our words before we say them,

To say what we think, or what we want others to think we think.

Our images are no longer truly based on our words and actions,

and people see us for what we filter through our screens,

which we translate to in real life by filtering through our minds.

 

We begin to question the reality of our relationships:

what holds us together? How do I relate to someone?

Is it the words I see on the screen, or is it the words I hear, 

coupled with a face that shows less pain than they could bear,

than they allowed themselves to show?

What I have arrived at, is a conclusion,

that these mirrors force us to reflect upon.

We filter to protect our image, 

which is split between our screens, and our real lives,

that are tarnished with paranoia, 

constantly ringing inside your mind, 

whispering darkly to question your friendship,

your love, your meaning, your definition of you.

 

The noise, it reaches to a point, where these words are meaningless.

Where reading bores you, and you skip to the end, where you might be right now.

I have learned what real relationships are, and what defines my friendships.

I am slowly climbing back from the abyss,

To where I can love myself and those around me.

I accept what the black mirrors are in our lives.

I have seen where the sidewalk ends,

and all you can hear is a flatline,

at the bittersweet, blissful end of solitude.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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