It’s 2 AM And I Still Know My Name

Even Though My Likeness Refutes It

A long day posting and reposting, tweeting and retweeting, facebooking and aligning the links that lead to steady bank accounts and wages.

Boy! I hope Donald Trump has a longer list of shit he’s poked into because it could be the difference between rich and richer.

No! I don’t mean that.

What I do mean to convey is how it fucking it takes me all day beyond midnight to service the minds of designed robots — who are already too sophisticated to buy into just one entry.

We want more, more more!

Releasing the scoop before others is not enough. It just serves as a handful of more mentions.

I lose my mind daily trying to reassess how to grope you into the adherence of small caps, a full stop before beginning the handle of verified royalty — and a quick hashtag that was just discovered before my mad dash to the toilet for a blissful pee.

Jesus H. Christ! The tears for what we’ve become are crystallized in formation for what we will never be.

I was stuck at my station in vain as I scheduled the offering for the overnight crowd. The sophisticated brood who demand their tweets short and potent.

I got home around 2 am and after stumbling in the dark and figuring out the light — I stood at the bathroom mirror in awe of what I had retained and lost.

I remembered my name and its meaning but the person slipping away from me needed to escape the blatant act occurring with no filters.

I deleted Snapchat a month ago and damn it!

The one night I needed to glow and hide — and now this!

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