The Cool Junkies

Junkies are drug addicts. But in the case of my poem, these junkies get their fix from attention. That's right, i'm referring to the groups of "cool" people we meet daily who for some misplaced sense of superiority, think they're better than the rest of us. They try too hard to be "cool", to set the trends and follow them, in their relentless pursuit of attention and acceptance. However, in the process, their individual unique personalities are drowned out by their actions, and they become predictable and boring, almost akin to robots.

The Cool Junkies

Cloned,

Serial-numered,

Unthinking Cyborgs.

Similar swaggers juxtaposing

Gel-slicked hair and untucked shirts,

Programmed vocab of symbols and censored beeps.

Exhaling nicotine charred breath,

Mint in mouth.

Artificial semblence,

"Fake" says your digital profile.

You get high on attention,

But got caught in its web of addiction.

Led to your withdrawal symptoms,

Shards of once colourful personalities lost.

Rip off the masks!

Away with thy unholy stenches,

Or begone-Homogenous Beings,

Undeserving a human lifestyle.