We scroll past bombs
and birthday cakes,
same thumb, same blank face.
Someone dies,
someone dances,
and we just keep going.

We smile in filters,
cry in dark corners,
say "I'm fine"
with a voice that shakes.

We love in likes,
break hearts in silence,
chase meaning in memes
and call it connection.

The world spins on-
****** and blooming,
a garden grown from graves.
It's cruel.
It's gorgeous.
And somehow,
we're still here-
half broken, half trying.
all human.