The Void

I feel a void where something should be

A hole

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

But

There isn’t

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.

Instead,

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

Meta (facebook)

Snapchat

My banking app

My cryptocurrency

And

My investment app.

Too much.

I scroll through them

Finding nothing.

Nothing has changed from five minutes ago

When I subconsciously picked up my phone

And scrolled through them all.

They are all the same

Nothing new

But still

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

But

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

Over

And

Over

And

Over

And

Over again.

Until there is nothing left of me.

Just my phone and the void.

And the void is growing.

Soon,

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?

Probably most.

Oh well,

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…

-C.H.