Another P̶r̶i̶s̶o̶n̶ Prism

I stare at this sleekly curved rectangle too much;

by it's bigger-newer-better sibling
each year.

A routine crowd of faces
pressed tightly against
the frost framed window
looking for their very own
puppy for sale.

This brick compels...no, allows
access to buy back
all my childhood toys
and trinkets from faceless
merchants online.

Exploiting the dead child inside me;
but hey, nobody said nostalgia was cheap
let alone free for the taking.  

A mortgage this late,
very unlikely.

I found out recently,
my greatest privilege only exists
if I were to turn up missing.
Media reports on a lone star
suddenly snuffed out by another
misunderstood white face.

"How could this happen
again and again and again?"
They mutter.
Ignoring the girl harassed
for an exposed shoulder;
black smeared underneath
her eyes.

They all ask for it.
Don't they?
Every shade.

This heavy paperweight in my hands
promotes an intense self loathing;
it's weaponry?

Tiny digital sprites
of momentary gratification.
Twelve little hearts dancing in a row.
A few thumbs pointing upward to the sky.

The maximum numbered value.

Everyone gets a number.
Everyone is born under one.

To only have your chair wheeled
to the sea; the final audience,
waves lapping at feet.
A despondent face of
empty lines scratched in;
now filled with relief.