Day 14, also late. Draft:
Tired eyes just keep on staring,
aching muscles keep on bearing
the weight of one heavy ego
that presses, “Why don’t we go
back a page — we might’ve missed
a like or follow on that list.”
Weak from one too may hours
glued to screens and higher powers
of stimulus-response insisting
on another video or article, resisting
the body’s instinct to budge,
thwarting a helpless subconscious begrudged,
I postpone the real world and stay plugged
into nonsense, my own senses drugged.
They say we blink less in the monitor’s sheen —
around sixty percent — while somewhere off-screen
there are eyes growing tired of sun and mold,
blurred vision or burning from pollen or cold,
and I ask myself for an explanation
as to why I can’t be allergic to instant gratification.
It’s inescapable: when there are things to be done, responsibilities to be seen to, I always manage to escape into those lifeless corners of the internet for some genuine time-wasting. Even when I do manage to get some work done, it’s almost always on the computer, which I (perhaps “we,” as a society) have become too dependent upon. I feel the toll it takes on the eyes, the body, and the mind, but somehow I always seem to get drawn back into the black hole. I suppose we have such things to give ourselves hope of one day overcoming them, but every time NaPoWriMo rolls around, at least one poem is manifested from such disappointment.