Untitled

How often do you cross their mind?  
Were you the one that got away from someone?
Someone they urn to touch again?
Did a passing memory make them laugh,
Or cry a tearful smile?
 
Are we so desperate for connection,
That we sell our souls for that 10 minutes  
With each second of the camera  
Stealing another thread of our souls
 
Thinning to the point where there’s nothing left
Only threadbear pieces to be passed on
For the cycle to continue  
More desperate, depraved for connection
 
So desperate to fill the emptiness
That we again sell our threads  
To get that high of love
Infatuation of the masses
 
As time goes on  
We get more depraved
Pushing further into the abnormal  
Just to be accepted
 
Nothing is binary
Nothing is sacred  
Nothing is off limits
Everything is lost