Who the bloody hell cares

Sorry, just my own frustration

What's the point of writing this f$@#$ poetry
That no one ever f$@$$@ cares
To be reduced to another cheap peddler
out pawning his literary wares

This is the age of instant messaging
people glued to an electronic device
conversant with hashtags and smiley faces
to them symmetry might be a surprise

To see the world from the palm of your hand
and the websites that we now scour
through apps, people we understand
to always find out, but never discover

The End

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