Connected

[Pent uP]

[dis]Connected

Flickering hues lit all the room: their faces and walls.
They complacently call eachother names like 'babe' that evolved
throughout the years, loud and clear, from the faith they installed
escaping the faults that's made them elated, enthralled,
entangled and caught. They're so close - in separated realms.
Thumbs thumbing the screen - drum thumping machines messaging their friends.
No leverage to their heads: they're glued like Texans to their pelt -
connected in themselves through a cybernetically embedded
skeleton and shell electrically developed between the screen and their eye.
He's feeling sublime, on the couch, reading the lies -
completely online with the The Onion, Wikimedia, Chive.
Their only hope is he notices when she stretches her cheeks in a smile.

'Fuzzies' are made from the seat to his side: she's on the love-seat adjacent.
By herself, trying to buy herself scrunchies and bracelets.
Munching on Lay chips - drowning their puppy's engagement
with the crunch that they're making. Neither drunk nor complacent,
just stuck in the stages between ready to squab and getting along.
A connection is lost - closest they come is petting the dog.
Friends and their job are never questioned a lot
but scenarios of settling are apprehensively thought.
The consensus is not spoken of - consider it sacred -
Tablets zip-tying faces until lips are strung by the digital matrix.
Pixels equate with pleading the fifth in arraignments:
and their eyes are drawn with a hint of dumb blankness.

Their principles make it and the tribulations harder than war.
Locked in their corners - their bodies are corpses - this the modern rapport.
Said to be lovers but dead to eachother through hearts they adore:
they're starving for more on the ground obstacle floor.
As problems are formed they progress their connection to the glow -
The rhetoric is old - one that everybody knows:
The further they're getting in their home, the more pressure on their souls.
Lessening control until everything goes to hell and it explodes.
Love assembled by the oafs - setting it in stone and ruining their hearts.
Visualized, digitized, minimized and consuming all the charge.
Brooding is an art that Photoshop embellished for the truly Avant-garde;
If any of this applies to you, you've been doomed right from the start.