Why Society Feels Dead
When the music shoves the feet and the faces rotate, no one makes it out alive.
There were breakthrough lights
in the greyness of the clouds.
Look around;
there is no one
on the green tennis of the field
upon which light had beamed.
*
They are hiding behind
headphones,
earphones,
blocking out peers.
So grave
like grey clouds.
What can control our delusions?
Delusion of life after death
death after life.
You walk the street,
but you aren’t going anywhere
after the clock strikes six.
After the mountains are filtered by the fog.
Who is there for us to scream down on?
*
Cars driving by
Conversations going black.
Voices pulverized by the pistons.
You hear that someone is stressed.
This group is better than them;
they have no friends.
Hidden emotion
clipped by the wind.
*
Even in cafes,
music shoves the feet.
They whisper into the tune of the day
as the faces rotate,
sitting like a product with their backs up straight.
Not a single word with an aim,
all so the coffee beans could get paid.
Moving south, moving east
they go to the club during the night.
Not a single ounce of them had made it out alive.
Society is dead.
No one knows you;
no one knows what is true
About you.
About the Creator
Caitlin Charlton
Writer first. Close reader and self‑taught critic shaping eloquence.
A survivor reclaiming her territory.
I write dark fiction and poetry through symbol, shadow, and fracture.
Always sharpening the craft. ✏️🔥👠
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