Are we dead?
Disconnected in our palms, forgetting
To look up at who sits across from us,
Living under the shelled blanket, keeping
The world far away from ourselves,
Trying to capture every moment, while losing
Them all, to the passing ticks of the clock
Tied firmly on our wrists,
Why log in, when we’re so close to living?
Lost in the long press to function,
We hide from sight, while thinking we’re seen.