Trending Trauma
This wound is currency if offered in public,
Where agony thrives by algorithmic republic,
Aches retouched to match the feed—Only the viral
are guaranteed.A whispered hurt with angles set,
Bruises filtered to silhouette.Pain worn for followers, stitched in rows,
Each confession edited so the audience grows.A trauma turned to carousel,
Click by click, another shell—Nothing private,
nothing raw—Only what fits the latest law.
Healing is staged as a sponsored act,
The crowd adores a branded pact.A scar reshared is worth more viewsThan silence,
dignity, or honest bruise.They trade despair in lightning threads,
Transform collapse into overheads.Pain is packaged, grief is sold,
And suffering’s only valid when told.
A metric for anguish, a leader board for woe,
Every new hurt a show to grow,
The stories mount, but healing stalls,
As trauma morphs into curtain calls.Damage displayed with captions sharp,
A parade of ghosts, a bleeding art.No solace found,
no roots for peace—Just a race to suffer, never cease.
Identity burned in a theater of scars,
Where pain is priced like rented cars.You do not mend; you pose for light,
Staging distress for a digital night.They reward the visible, mock the plain,
Erase the quiet, amplify pain.What began as cry became routine,
And memory fades in the dopamine machine.
The highest bid is for the story untold—So each retelling grows more bold.Tears rehearsed and selfies pale,While true despair is lost in sale.Here, survival
isn’t living proof—It’s a label,
proofed by comment roof.Not one is freed by the viral chain—The
crowd demands confession, then moves to the next pain.
No genuine comfort, no midnight friend,
Just a feed that scrolls, a thread that won’t end.Trending trauma—etched
and spent,
A monument to pain, a feast for rent.And in the silence after the digital swell,
No healing comes, just another tale to sell.