There’s a secret corner of the internet where she talks
Where people listen and with zero thought, say “oh you poor thing”
The echo chamber where people go to hear the playback of their own inner-thinking
The place where shocking tales are told about a cooked-up reality
The place where people just agree, without being a true, critical friend
And quickly give their scroll-by likes and hugs, without even reading to the end
But way deep inside her, the patient eye of conscience flickers. Waiting
Waiting through all her endless comments, pseudo-psycho-virtual therapy, distorting the facts with the fiction
Hoping that one day see might find a better direction
That from her boat she might glimpse a light of truth, out in that perfectly made up storm
And she washes up on a distant shore, all bedraggled and forlorn - but free from any more foolish journeys
Of self destruction, out on that sad, soulless, raging, endless ocean. Fishing for sympathy.