Man's Infinite Appetite

The world hums in vectors of static,  

blinking screens with digital transfusions,  

headlines swollen with fevered irrelevance,  

turning truth into a background hum.  

They sell us glitter wrapped in plastic,  

distractions like sugar on our tongues.  

We are moths, flung towards cold flames:  

brands, trends, the promise of escape.  

Yesterday’s tragedy gets tomorrow's blur,  

fed to us between jingles and noise.  

Our endless scroll carves time to bits,  

each moment pixelated and misplaced.  

The unreal stretches its wings wide,  

while attention becomes the newest currency.  

Somewhere, silence waits, gathering dust,  

but we ache for what keeps us spinning.