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It is no joke, the cold we feel on
winter days,
and lack of anything worthwhile to do;
emptiness is all there is to view
the opposite extreme TV displays.
Lack of purpose, idleness creates;
in unrelenting boredom we are lost,
dark as night inside, the heart as cold as frost
cheerless anger burns, oneself one hates.
Laughter canned, the up-beat hosts,
the cult of smiles
vomit from the tube. A ceaseless, alien noise
contaminates our frozen void with its false voice
gaudy fantacies resound across the ice for miles.
Everywhere is either emptiness or
sham
and each condemns the one I really am.
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