Cold drinks abandoned in layers of dust motes,
a trapped generation
is writing on the internet,
in chilly stale air,
moribund lonely witnesses
to intimacy.
Emotions fall into words
in a language of telepathy
with bits of hurt,
floating bubbles too much.
Adrift, solitary, under the streetlight
in attics
with dark shadow sub sectioned to time,
Gen Z selfies posted on a wall.










