The End of my Soul on Saturday Nights

I hate the way TV personalities

stare at me

from the screen

like they know me

like they wanna talk or

hold my hand

or reach in and

rub my heart

 

the way they fucking

smile

from their perfect

made-up flesh

 

they say ‘I am this

and

you want to be me

to know me

to look like me

come this way and I’ll

show you

a thousand pounds and

a holiday for two’

 

and as the audience laughs

coz it’s told to

as the show’s jingle plays

 

as wars go on and

leaders climb and crumble

 

as death exists

forever

like a game show host

but with

better hair and

a dirtier grin

 

they don’t know

who the fuck they’re

talking to

 

if they did

they’d

never talk this way

again

 

so I turn over

and think:

 

the stars are

too complex to

ever fathom

 

so don't try to

◄ After All The Fucking Shit Has Already Fucking Hit You

when that daylight hit us again (inspired by Gareth Writer-Davies' Junk poem) ►

Comments

Profile image

Donna Marie Beck

Sun 27th Mar 2011 10:23

TV is brain washing but least your aware of it.

Profile image

Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sat 26th Mar 2011 17:56

Excellently put with 'pith and vinegah'.

There have been other poems on this idea. It might make a good subject for a shared 'theme'.

Profile image

melanie coady

Fri 25th Mar 2011 20:15

sooo true! xx

Profile image

Tom Harding

Thu 24th Mar 2011 23:42

I know this feeling.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message