Manufactured Idolatry


You are a voyeuristic vision

Enveloped by your sponsored narrative

There lies scandal

Sizzling on the tip of your tongue

Framed by mysteries

Lining the corners of your candied smile

A stench of sour milk trapped in your nostrils

As you swing your bucket of sumptuous fortune

A static soliloquy

Accentuated by a thundering congregation

Vaporous marionettes

Swaying to the beat of your dream

Disrobe your greed and model mayhem

There is a melancholic chasm

Within your transitory happiness

A counterfeit identity

Snapshot fulfillment

The shipwreck of your moral compass

A fireball explosion

Of garish fame

In a state of flux

I do not envy you.