We're cogs, Pavlov's dogs
grinding away endlessly in this infernal machine
Salivating, anticipating
the "DING" of "somebody sees me" so perhaps I am worthy
We're stereotypes, the victims of swipes
It's left or it's right, am I boon or blight?
"Like, how many likes make me likeable?"
We're plastic people
buying plastic with plastic
eating plastic foods and popping plastic pills
for our elastic moods
We are, we think, what they think we are
They are, they think, what we think they are
We're endlessly scrolling, constantly trolling
Curating, controlling the game
We're always patrolling, virtue extolling
forever bankrolling our fame
It's capitulation for adoration
We're products producing products
We're fakes faking fakers
We're blind mice running in circles on treadmills that go nowhere
and we're getting there fast
Are you having a blast?
Probably not
it's hollow and fraught, the limelight you sought
The "likes" that you got
What about that empty spot?
Who are you I want to ask, at the end of the day
without the mask?
If nobody's seeing your life on a platter, at the end of the day
why do you matter?
Imagine that your Schrodinger's cat
both alive and dead, a phantom thread
Nobody knocks or opens the box
Will you persist, or cease to exist?