A Reservoir of Lost Art

It’s raining on all the books and magazines
It seems no one reads
Scrolling through an endless feed
Of people they’ll never meet

Fake asses
Fake lips
Fake trips
Fake fun
Life blowing them by in a blip
Until
One day
They crap up and die
Having lived
A fake life

It’s raining on all the books and magazines
The text begins to drip and bleed
A deep puddle of thick black ink
Incoherent
Indecipherable
A reservoir of lost art