Hollow-Gram
by Edwin Fairbrother
Inmates of impulse, subs to the swipe
Are the fruits of our labour, rotten or ripe?
Captives to the systems that we so much despise
Jumping headfirst into our drawn-out demise
Cat videos to make you warm and so smitten
While your success is determined by a cruel algorithm
Apps making the dating pool shallower and shallower
Worth is decided by metric of stranger to follower
Apps draining all dignity from the art of matchmaking
Like a cheesy wingman, very far from breathtaking
Nothing of interest, there’s really nothing to see
So why keep watching, with so much interest and glee?
Life is now content, clips are now rife
Sold as pure vibes, instead of great strife
Newsfeeds all day, Reels all night
Not a real connection, anywhere in sight
So, as the last organic brain rots in a big jar of brine
We’ve sacrificed a lot just to be entertained all the time
Edwin Fairbrother is a writer and poet from London, UK. Poems from his debut collection WarHeads—due for release this November 2026 with Prolific Pulse Press—have been published in WayWords Literary Journal, The Page Gallery Journal, The Quasar Review, Scribbled, and Enfield Poets Second Anthology. Find him on Instagram @edwinfairbredda_writes.