Hack

Frustrations.

Trivial

I write senseless drivel

Will it ever be enough

will what I make up

strike chords

with anyone

even the wards

of what's served on silver screen platters

Or will my words 

be washed away

swept with the rubbish of today 

Cheap paint 

stripping

dripping

because it can't stand the reign

If it matters

what's my purpose 

if it's all worthless

is my self loathing

and all my groaning

worth the paper

or post it's written on 

Am I blindly talking

into a void

audience's gone

because I haven't employed

what tickles the ears of what's monetized

As I continue to sanitize 

what you see I submit

nights I fantasize 

for when I may permit

myself to speak my mind

but the question lingers

will anyone find

me out of the press slingers

with filth stained fingers

and monotone mechanized singers

sinking to new lows as time goes on 

Am I spoiled goods

passed my time

before it's even started

blocked by thick woods

of those desperate to climb

ladders bound to break 

under the weight 

of their insufferable crafts

of personhood 

that shroud the blisters

of truth

with pilfered pictures and filtered

fixtures mimicking youth

young and old

do as your told

step into the fray

they'll blow you away

to the depths

of algorithms

uniform rhythms 

keep popping what's prescribed

not one stopping 

to combat it

only watching as art dies

falling into lukewarm hell

Declining health

have I done it to myself

Are my days enough

scarlet specks 

ashy flecks come up

a useless huff and puff

to claw away from eventually

winding up 

unheard

irrelevant

to not one mind I rent

remembrance

Perhaps I'm not worth one ounce of reverence. 

Not now or ever. 

No one wants to hear your flack

when you're born and live

and die a hack.