Gazing at the Facebook blue.
Time and time again; through and through.
Like searching an empty fridge.
With no contents, continually abridge.
Fumed, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Yesterday's pizza, a status update.
An absence of milk shall procure
the obscure event invitation to join the human race.
While Facebook is no door
of social development.
It is a face in its own right:
Blue as a lap dancer and gaudily hazed.
You walk out of the stripper joint dazed.
It is a book in its own right:
Dragging you back after it like a dark crime.
Shoot the sheriff and the deputy will chase you double time.
Facebook is no door.
Facebook no more.
I stare at the sea of trepidation, in a ship of imagination.
Facebook is no door; Facebook no more.
Examine the fridge's inhabitation, cold, empty fixation.
Facebook is no door; Facebook no more.
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