Contributed by Robert Lyons

Madness I say, the day’s change rattling the fabric of time

The tactic to individualise the experience

Technify the abode and make loads of dough

Stream their message immediately

Segregation through self selection

Neglecting the “soul” purpose, solely for profit

The end is here, the credits roll

But as the rows of seats lay empty

Missing is the conglomerate enjoyment of others

The smells and sounds, a frightful scream

A jolly laugh

Sadness we pay, as memories spiral away never made

We lay in isolation, staring at screens in our own defecation

Forgetting the elation of social interaction

The satisfaction when the lights go down