They sell catastrophe wholesale now,

Two-for-one collapse before noon.

Panel shows with lacquered brows

Discuss extinction like it’s nothing new.

Graphs climb neatly toward the grave,

Experts nod in curated fright,

Every crisis pre-behaved,

Packaged tight for prime-time bite.

I watch the ticker crawl like slime

Across the underside of thought,

Every certainty bought and sold,

Every angry plea neatly bought,

They’d prefer you sedated

Half-informed, half-educated

Hovering somewhere between afraid

And politely devastated.

Doom and dismay

It’s the background sound of the age.

A low-grade fever they cultivate,

A managed psychological state.

Doom and dismay

Pre-installed before you wake.

Not lies, repetition,

Just a well-maintained mistake.

Apocalypse with studio lighting,

Slow-motion doom, tastefully framed.

Everyone arguing, no one fighting,

Just reputations being maintained.

We scroll past famine, pause at shoes,

Rage in bursts, then lose our head.

Nothing shocks; we just consume

The newly rehearsed version of dread.

They don’t need restraints, they need consent.

They don’t need force, just lack of judgement.

Keep the public temperament

Somewhere near comparative.

Not terrified just tense.

Not awake just incensed.

Kept vibrating on the fence

Of permanent consequence.

Doom and dismay

The ambient soundtrack of now.

A curated sense of decay

With a reassuring bow.

Doom and dismay

It’s beautiful, but can fright.

Not death swallowing life

Just photons limiting sight.

It’s not the end of the world.

It’s the end of your attention span.

It’s not collapse.

It’s calibration.

You are not oppressed

You are nudged.

Not ghosted

Just drowned in excess.

The tragedy isn’t death.

It’s fatigue.

Somewhere beneath the managed panic

There’s a heart that won’t comply.

Unleashing the unknown.

Not afraid of ridicule.

Call it instinct, knowing ones self,

Call it something unapproved.

But it doesn’t scare at boos,

And it doesn’t scare at moods.

It watches the Evil unravel

Like threads pulled from a sleeve,

And declines the invitation

To perform what it should grieve.

Doom and dismay

You can keep your tanted ways.

I decline the theatre play;

I prefer the unknown.

Doom and dismay

It’s persuasive, I’ll admit.

But I won’t let it dim what's lit.

Ill keep having a go at it.