We Are All The Same

A one-second smile for the capture light,
a two-minute sob for the camera click.
The fortunate return to their gaudy prison of monotony,
the rest return to the physical prison of their body.
For they have nothing but furs on naked skin,
living like animals in a gilded zoo cage,
under false assumptions that they are wild and free,
jeering at carbon copies paraded on stage.
We are all the same, we are all the same.

A three-second amusement at squares on a screen,
before groveling for the next interesting thing.
A varnish-eyed glance or five-hour boredom,
pick your poison; there is no in-between.
Like babies fixated on shiny trinkets,
except all the babies have low self-esteem.
Mass-manufactured positivity and assembly-line pity,
to seek validation in our own self-defame.
We are all the same, we are all the same.

This illusion of anonymity, unveiling humanity,
for the catastrophic simplicity that it is;
a cocky lord in a tattered tee, boasting desperately,
under the guise of purpose, asserting superiority.
I am aware, yet I do not change,
for a hypocrite lives and dies by the name.
I might post this to some social media site,
and wait the seasons aimlessly for some stranger's reply.

We are all the same, we are all the same.