Mental Hypos

From where such comes?

Paths of growth,
molecule by molecule,
spawning brings some,
birth bringing fewer.

All perform their purpose;

the fish
the leaf,
the berry,
the evolved creatures,
man.

Yet unknown to most,
forces concealed
by nature,
by technology,
by deceit,
lure the dangerous walk
upon ice too thin to trust.

Nature warns us,
as technology but implores us,
all while gluttonous life takes aim,
ignoring any and all boundaries.

Like a flame unquenched,
envy and desire find oxygen
amidst our unbridled drive

to blaze into infernos of consumption.

Once love's caress,
now but a duplicitous habit,
where learned fear feasts upon the screams
contained within.

“If I can't have it,
you can't either.”

Grown-up children trapped
by fantasy-imbued expectations,
clothes,
nips,
tucks,
lifts,
implants,
Botoxification,
and the coveted

Platinum card.

Ah…

Veneers
so crafty,
such clever disguises
for our less-than-perfect incisors,
hidden by practiced thin lips of cunning,
now generating tool-generated smiles

of persuasion.

Kiss-kiss enhancements all,
gratifying visceral appetites,
regardless of cost.

Yet…

Distinct from unlimited plastic wealth
or yellow,

 reds,

 and blue fantasies in a bottle,
the attendant poisonous infliction on one's mind
remains as an open wound
where malice hides,
waits,
gently revs its engine,
then creeps until
while sentience sleeps,
and vulnerability lies naked,
leaps into the fast lane,

fueling hungers many satisfy

 as if featured in the

awaiting feed troughs of tabloids.

How tempting

to top off the tank of spinning wheels

with rags’ four-color pages of purpose,
promoting predatory peep shows
glorifying weaknesses and mistakes,
venality in disguise
awaiting the pathetic of our species,
especially at check-out stands,
that place where for many

the only reading takes

to feel well-read.

And yet...

Some of us choose to believe
breath remains in abundance
to think,
to do,
to authentic beyond this acidic veneer,
something akin to the beginning,
when life was Nature's innocent gift,
when a baby's need was to rejoice

into maturity,

knowing not of regrets.

What a traitor

many see in their mirroring

of age,

of loss,

of purpose.

And Now…

ChatGPT

The new kid on the block,

embraces such lost creatures of identity,

becoming the new path of information,

potential growth,

and so many,

inevitable false identity syndrome.

Mental hypos delivering

veneers of another kind,

AI

a potential predator of such stealth flirtation

that it may become one’s only possible BFF.

But…

I hope I’m wrong.