Texture of grief

The texture of grief.

In her subtle search for sophistication and something more,
 she was bitten by the creepy wasp of the enthralling internet,
Then she knew her soul is being sold to things words can't imagine:
The good and the wild.
She rant on impulse.
Vanity spat  its venom on her skin as goosebumps,
Less likes on her pops make her smiles halt ;
leaving her joy on a sad cause,
Her happiness now hinges on mega bytes;
Your admonition on her post to bury her milkshake encrusted gold in honor, she disdainfully bites,
Your sincere comments on her wayward projectiles leave threats and spiteful remarks on your wall;
She took off her elegant covering and sold her security and value for a piece of shame.
Her soul became a bin of societal litters,
Everyone with a kobo can now lick her,
To hop and hump your bed for the wads make her tinder;
Drowned in brown bottles;
She became the sepulchre of unwanted seeds,
She became the refuse  dump of contraceptives
The  signature of greed,
Her bags are notched with dysentery;
Trotting unregistered colored cars round the megacity to nibble her mega chickens,
All she sought was that life in Utopia,
Just like hazelnut on bloated  cookies ;
 it came crashing and crumbled.
She got the  apparitions of her inglorious grasps for the wind lurk around her thin shoulders and long velvet cladding,
All she wanted was to come online and spice the timelines;
But the skeletons of  her nude and messy drops oftentimes pummels  her slothful pulse.
To have led such a forlorn life of incurable thirst and want, is to have felt the texture of grief
🙅🏻‍♂
©fireflies and bumble bees
™Tom