My eyes feel like they’re permanently crossed, but I have finished Poem #12!

 

Telescreen

 

You barrel towards me,

a dump truck loaded

with feces. If I refuse

 

delivery, you step on

the accelerator, and

the shit comes even faster.

 

Once, I could

bolt the door

to stop your words

from arriving,

 

but now they

arrive around the clock,

 

like unwanted packages

from messengers on

an endless shift.

 

The worst part is,

I signed up for this,

and keep coming back for more.

 

Despite my discontent,

I’ll return again and again,

until I’m too old and ill

to flip the on switch anymore.

 

I’m sorry, George Orwell.

I promised to resist, but

in the end, was seduced

by the thrall of eternal connection.