It’s been a task to attempt to sleepwalk through this nightmarish scenario,
Reading, feeling, and a low processing social media Lothario.
How to nurture hope? The lovechild of dreams and plans,
When all my life seems to contract into my ever-diminishing attention span.
It’s not that I have not felt anger, despair or outrage
I am bottling it all up, not letting my humanity my survival phase.
Totally pointless have become well established routines of consuming content
Spoilt for choice? No, it’s the tremors of my beating heart rebelliously felt
In my inability to go on as I have always done before,
If only in not having the space to read, write, or even participate in pop cultural folklores.
I have had my mother’s voice in my ear and my father’s advice through all of this though,
Yet I am lonelier than ever, my isolation bunker mentally furrowed.
No more! No more! This pretending to be alright anymore!
Glazed eyes and overactive imaginations, miserable scenarios galore.
I don’t have an ending, I probably didn’t even have a beginning
This is me filling space, like always, exercises in self-loathing.