I see a picture on the screen.
And it is beautiful.
But it isn’t real. Not for me.
Why should it be dutiful?

I cannot hear the waves.
I cannot feel the breeze.
I cannot see the blueness,
Of cold, returning seas.

I want to watch the sunset,
Over a brilliant, golden shore.
And if this picture is my heart,
Why am I still sore?

Salt has healed my wounds for me
And plasters cover the scars.
They cross my soul of melting plastic,
And cover up my stars.

I may be hidden from the view
Of people and their daily lives.
If this is life then I don’t want it.
Nobody survives.