képek, betűk

every day you sell yourself, 
You stand there, as a specialist-prig on the proper shelf,
as a product
price tags gazed at by other products
you have no idea who you might have been
yet you think it’s fine as it is, while
you make up for the lack: you travel, you amuse yourself,
travelling is one of your life-masturbation
you promote yourself: you just want to feel all right
smile, smile and smile
you’re empty – a covered void, ever more pitiful
day by day you lie to yourself more deftly
year by year, you lie to others more perfectly
gradually you believe your own lies
until at last you are merely a product
your price tag hanging from your neck on a bit of rope
you consume, you reproduce: you claim you’ve grown up
though nothing has happened, you just withered
you have become a wasted possibility
a product on a shop shelf, hidden behind tags
one who years ago lost every capacity
to exist without lies
to live somewhere other than the network
to do more than stare at yet another series, shows
to be able to read a bit more complex book
listen to sophisticated music
or think more deeply
than the cheapest soap opera
you’re a product, an empty balloon, a box of chocolates
pretending to itself that it is free
though you’re not even a cog in the machine anymore
and the more you lie
the higher your value
the more successful you become
until the result is something like the same hell
we see around us
every single day.