social media

I'm not sure if I want to be famous,
well-"liked",
re-posted, passed round like pot joint for multiple puffs,
sucked off by the stoned lips of university hipsters
eager to share fluids,
yet too well-zipped and cerebral to have the social skills to make an advance
without the inebriant as an excuse
not to remember the stinging reminder of personal failure
on any following morning.

I'm not cynical.
I just want to be famous, so I will
"follow" and imitate famous drunk white nihilists,
all style and anaemia, heterosexually over-compensating,
I may wear the smell of cigarettes
and will omnipotently will away any fear of cancer.

I am the postmodern conundrum,
I want all of the attention, but none of the fat,
I am low-calorie fast food, but famous,
to be eaten by the masses, for want of any other choices

The will to fame is a will to flame,
I will bite off more than I can chew
and chew the heads off of those both bitten and shy,
forewarning not to mess with me
on the internet.

I am not so famous, though, nor so populist
I opt to be misunderstood, and
will be easily made redundant for it.

Friday. Afternoon.