Preople.

Pretend people.

Where do they come from?

Who are they?

Sometimes even they don’t know.

Yet they consciously pretend to be who they aren’t.

They lie about their age.

They lie about where they are.

Sometimes they even lie about their gender.

Preople.

Cutesy names and avatars are their facade.

They catch your eye.

Then they reel you in with deceit.

The pics they post are with purpose.

Flowers and candy and sunsets.

Followed by scantily clad fairies and nymphs.

Preople.

Their own work consists of poor me and drama.

Sympathy sought from their prey.

They follow your every post.

Your every poem or story.

Tracked and hunted.

No escape.

Preople.

Human facades with no substance.

They stomp through your life.

And never leave a footprint.

Leaving only doubt and anger in their wake.

And hopefully a lesson learned.