A damp light from a table candle flickers,

revealing tomorrow’s faeces

– braised red cabbage, filet of beef

and a quarter glass of red wine.

Everything is documented.

 

The pout, strained through the rush of alcohol

at a flash that shows lifelessness

behind heavily mascaraed eyes.

All for show, an image portrayed

to those that follow, but how hollow

the bones that bend in such postures.

Everything is documented.

 

Legs, dipped into the sand of the Earth,

of wild nights and lazy days on a beach,

golden plastic stretching to foam flip-flops

and, look carefully, a stray pubic hair

peering from polyester.

Everything is documented.

 

Crouching with others, ilk-fitting,

a streamlined pose to fit a frame,

disbanded Into backstabbing

cruel gossip after a white flash

of a feigned moment.

Everything is documented.

 

The footage, pixels dancing to charred blocks

of sound, held in a hand, shaking,

seen through a fake window, quaking,

not in the moment, but beyond it.

Everything is documented.

 

An arm hovering over a breast,

a fake attempt of jovial bonding

in a toilet with a friend, those naked

lights highlighting the senselessness

of maintaining a perceived life.

Everything is documented.

 

A morning shot, an update of feeling,

Of a last Monday and regret.

Everything is documented.

 

A forgotten face lingers

amongst collections of poses,

of places, of people and text.

Bearded, the force of a smile ingrained,

the twitch of an eye, the grimace

of a pupil as a kiss is placed

on a cheek, for the flare, the white flash

exposing the truth of relations.

I sit there, documented in her past

forgotten, a regret to be remembered

an age from now, beyond this era,

this generation, this time where

everything is documented.