The End of Reality TV
Every torch had been put out.
Rose petals drifted on the wind
like little broken promises,
and no one remembered
how it all started
with Let’s Make a Deal. Real People
begging for biscuits like dogs,
dressed like dogs. We would watch
like we never could in life.
We would stare like children
without pretense at this cripple,
this traffic accident of a human being.
We would gaze into the fun house
mirror, hour by hour, and without noticing
became warped. In the end,
there were no survivors,
we were left alone
with ourselves clutching
our stem of thorns.
Every torch had been put out.
Rose petals drifted on the wind
like little broken promises,
and no one remembered
how it all started
with Let’s Make a Deal. Real People
begging for biscuits like dogs,
dressed like dogs. We would watch
like we never could in life.
We would stare like children
without pretense at this cripple,
this traffic accident of a human being.
We would gaze into the fun house
mirror, hour by hour, and without noticing
became warped. In the end,
there were no survivors,
we were left alone
with ourselves clutching
our stem of thorns.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson