Why Won’t You Talk to Me When the World is Ending

I spend my days working for the richest man on Earth
Draining bags of blood and dreaming of a robot coup
Hoping for a giant meteor and scrolling through feeds
Reading Wikipedia articles about Liminality
I feel profoundly alone and maybe we all are
Drowning in superficial interaction
Aching for the opposite of a tag
Even hatred is more intimate than a like
There’s an uncanny valley of similarity
Between you, me, and Alexa (play Despacito)
I see you staring at my gender in the grocery store
Wondering in disgust if aliens are real
And what my genitals look like
But there is a guilty pleasure in your terror
So maybe you can see how I would find
Solace in monsters and the vastness of the internet
Can you see us in our cycle of
Apocalypse, Transition, and Rebirth?
I am personally trying to crawl through
The placenta of our country’s bullshit
Maybe memes are the nouveau nouveau réalisme
And Vine compilations were the last Dada
Maybe Eliot would have loved Neko Atsume
But he would have hated our new wasteland
We live in fear of what we eagerly consume
On Twitter in the moments between
I’ve been thinking about how funny it is
That no one will talk to me about
Forgetting to talk to me
But they probably feel so afraid of tomorrow
So guilty looking through my profile pictures
Wondering who I am now
What I am becoming
Who we are without each other
I think about you all
All the time
I wish you would just hold me