ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ :)

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Each syllable that spills from your lips expresses hypocrisy and contradiction,
Each movement of your fingertips across the keyboard offering advice and comfort nothing more than an unfaithful and unfamiliar daydream.

If one were to say those things to you too, would you be happy?
Would you stop spilling out your own desires in hopes of offering attention,
Especially in times of great desperation and weakness whenever you realise you're not the worth the same effort?

With every lapse of each shift of time, each ticking of the clock claims a new segment of your shattering heart.
When will you realise that each attempt is meaningless and nobody will think of you the same way?

The poems you write are to an empty audience, each red set filled with hollow feedback and criticism,
No cushion weighed with the mass of genuine words and reciprocated effort.
Each time you attempt to ready the microphone and steady the performance
The sound echoes, like an unbalanced chord, and each new line of your poem
Are nothing more than a will to listeners that are no more alive than ghouls.

You attention seeker.

You desperate failure.

No matter what you write, what you dream, you will never achieve what you hope.

Even if you were to write reams and reams, every would be rendered unintelligible and illegible in the eyes of the truly worthy.