Pop hides the disgusting warts festering underneath.
Hypnotized by the mindless catchy tunes,
Medusa’s head becomes unsheathed
And we stay petrified in whatever swoon
Possessed us in our dreams.
It feeds our fantasy,
Leaving us delusional,
Convincing ourselves that happiness
Exists within this starving imbecile.
Subsisting existence,
Craving more of itself,
To consume our being
In mindless meditation of our dreams.