I bust out my kindle when I'm feeling classy.

Will it be an evening of reading?

A chance to discover a new author,

Maybe poets from years ago,

Or, will I just watch another episode?

Because yes, I'm still here,

But I'm also kinda tired?

I've got stories and lives aplenty lining my digital bookshelves,

But right now, I'm feeling 20 minutes of a show I've already seen.

Three times.

 

Sometimes I get the feeling I should be doing more with my time,

Capitalising like G in God, or London in England,

On all this time I have on my hands,

And yet my fingers itch for my cursor,

Saying too easily, too sweetly,

​

Next episode, please me.

It's difficult, managing this feeling of more.

Wanting to be able to look back on this global shit show

And say that I did more than watch 10 series and 24 films

And spend my waxing and waning moments doomscrolling because

A 1971 oompla-loompa got a seat in a house 5000 miles away

Or because, for some reason, people can't seem to wash their hands

And now blue is the colour of greed,

And maybe it's okay that I can just sit

And lose myself for 20 minutes because

This shit is exhausting.

​

So maybe today I don't need to read,

Maybe I don't need to re-invent the world or extinguish the fires consuming it,

Maybe today, what I need is for you to let me burn a while too.