Itchy Fingers

He hadn’t realised
That he’d been using technology
To medicate his pain.
Reaching for his phone
For a song that would drown out
His quiet desperation,
Bingeing TV
As a means of escaping reality
Only to find that he is still himself
When the credits roll.
His fingers itched
Not for another hand to hold-
But a screen to tap
And pixels to stare at,
Subconsciously hoping that maybe
The next video would make up for
The arms that aren’t around him
The truth that isn’t in him
The peace that escapes him.
His wishful thinking allowed him to hope
That maybe after a long day
Of scrolling
He would find
That his itchy fingers would finally
Be still-
Yet no matter how much he scratched
The tech never seemed to hit the spot.


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