There is nothing but the simplicity, masked by the poison of technology. At home, ones only refuge is the television screen, the bright lights that pull you into a world, many refuse to go down. What wonders lie there? The promise of beauty? The fabricated lies they tell you are okay to feel, surely, no? As the static forms like moths to a flame, their eyes pucker up for their fifteen minutes of fame, then BAM. You are left with the sorrow of everyday life, draining your very being with the vermin of perfection. 


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