Updated: Nov 27, 2021
I feel a void where something should be
An empty space.
I’m not sure what is supposed to be there,
But whatever it is
It isn’t there any longer.
Every time I feel it, I reach for my phone,
As if there is something on there that will help
There’s just more dead space.
I smoke a vape pen full of flavored nicotine these days
I also reach for it when I feel the emptiness
I need it in my hand
I need it near me at all times
It also doesn’t help with the emptiness.
And I know,
I am addicted to it.
I feel the same addiction to my phone.
It’s always there
Ready to be picked up and scrolled through.
It’s as if I believe something in there will fix me.
A text from someone special.
A like from a cute lady.
A game to play.
A distraction from reality.
A relief from the void.
Everytime I scroll through it
I’m left emptier.
It’s sucking the life out of me.
It’s killing me.
It’s a poison.
Just as much as the vape pen is.
I try not to reach for it
But almost as an unconscious impulse,
it’s in my hand again.
Ready to suck me in
A little piece of my soul
That I voluntarily give it.
I have three different instagram accounts.
(one for shitty writing. One for decent fighting and the one full of bad selfies and good times)
Two dating apps
My banking app
My investment app.
I scroll through them
Nothing has changed from five minutes ago
When I subconsciously picked up my phone
And scrolled through them all.
They are all the same
I scroll through.
The disappointment of finding nothing new fuels the emptiness.
Like throwing gas on an already large flame.
I put my phone down in frustration.
‘Why had I picked it up in the first place?’
I ask myself.
‘I won’t pick it up for another thirty minutes at least!’
Thirty seconds go by
My watch, that's connected to my phone, buzzes.
It’s just a text from a nobody.
But I grab my phone
I start by replying
Without even trying
I’m scrolling through all my shitty apps again.
Ten minutes have gone by and I’ve been on my phone the entire time.
I’m pissed at myself.
I dramatically set my phone down right next to me.
‘Not for another thirty damn minutes!’
I lie to myself.
This pattern continues
Until there is nothing left of me.
Just my phone and the void.
And the void is growing.
There will be nothing left of me.
There will just be my phone and the scrolling.
I wonder how many other shitty writers write about this fucked up phenomenon of being addicted to their phones?
I guess I am one of many.
As soon as I am done with another shitty poem
I reach for it again.
The cycle continues.
Maybe I needed rehab?
Maybe we all did…