The Endless Scroll

We build our altars to the algorithm's god,

And curate faces on the polished sod.

A marketplace of smiles, a digital sea,

Where "potential" is a ghost, and you and me

Are just two profiles, passing in the night,

Swiping for a sliver of connection's light.

Left for the flaws the camera couldn't hide,

Right for the echo of our wounded pride.

A match! A chime, a momentary spark,

A conversation starting in the dark.

But the words are hollow, pre-approved and tired,

Two résumés of selves, politely hired.

We collect connections like we collect likes,

Building our kingdoms on these digital dykes.

A hundred conversations, shallow and fast,

But which one, when the storm comes, will truly last?

We're drowning in the options, paralyzed by choice,

And in the roar of many, we have lost our voice.

The profile perfects, the witticisms planned,

Have made us strangers in our own land.

We perform our best lives for the judging eye,

But forget how to be, forget how to cry

Real tears, or speak a truly clumsy word,

The kind of messy, human truth that's heard

Not with a judgment, but with open hands

The kind of love that truly understands.

So the loneliness deepens, a bitter, silent ache,

With every new connection that we fake.

We swipe and swipe, searching for a cure,

For a touch, a truth, for something real and pure.

But the screen just offers more of the same old lie,

And we are the loneliest people, you and I.