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hinge: Music Player
Feels I got me hooked up to a syringe
Even when the profiles are cringe
I can’t stop the Hinge binge.
All these faces, all theses places,
feels like a day at the motherfucking races,
With which horse do you fancy your chances,
Who’s going to give you a case of romances,
Well let’s see shall we, and analyse, their pedigree,
Or rather, what they’ve decided to show me,
Still, a useful take on their social currency,
Cultivated photos of parties, university,
Pretty friends and a holiday,
God how our grandparents would be filled with dismay,
Seeing us scattergun court this way,
But this is the future, so comewhatmay,
I’m gonna live every next day
Like it’s my last to get sexey
The only way to leave a legacey
It offers us immortalitey
Through platforming our seed,
Coz to procreate is a godam need,
But It’s better than Tinder
More soul than Thrinder,
Using words make you think deeper,
Describe yourself in three: voyeur pervert creeper
You’re looking more at faces than words and thoughts
But this is who we are, strip back what you’re taught!
We fancy someone. Instinct. Then we post rationalise,
Forget their made-up views, and look in their pixelated eyes.
Provided with a safespace to leer, maybe there’s more of an honesty here.
But the algorithm is flawed,
It ushers us along, sleep-walking , slack-jawed,
Keeping us with the same same
But different, means no flame flame
Addictive as it is, we’re fuckin bored,
The love in us has already soared,
We’ll never reach that yesterday, we were adored,
So now we’re just, trying to stay assured - not be ignored-
That we’ve still gotta leg in the game, Even if it’s turned lame,
Stacking up chats, like collecting shineys, pogs, tekken fighters,
Many lost and forgot, despite the all-nighters.
Ive heard myself say, “besides potentially getting your end away,
There’s a sharper insight, into what peeps are really like
By understanding their fears, hopes, traumas and overall psyche.”
So whether theyre into sex toys, or Beam me up softbois,
Tories or left wingers, hot stuff or unearthly mingers,
Earlobes or sucking fingers. Much can be gleaned from the data illustrated,
Enough to get your pupils dilated, enough to get you, almost elated.
But, as stated.
It’s all the same.
Despite your data, the chat starts out mundane
All rather English, which is quite a shame,
May as well prerecord what you say,
Feels so much like Groundhog day,
“Where are you from?” What do you do?”
“Shall we move to whatsapp, go for a drink and screw?”
And then when you’ve been lucky enough to shag,
You might move on and it becomes a humble brag,
But then there’s a slight chance, you start to lag,
You begin to think to yourself, “maybe we should actually, you know, help one
By actually getting to know each other,
Then maybe just maybe, we might actually become lovers.
Because relationships happen in reverse these days,
First comes the sex and then the shared pathways.”
So when she texts again, you can’t believe your lack of pain,
When you decide to refrain. You send no reply, watching what you could have
That crazy grandparent thought of possible love was in vain.
You’re overrided by data, when in London do as the Londoner does,
They WW2 strided, so you could become addicted to the FOMO LED dating buzz.
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