Pocket PleasurePoem About Being Addicted to Your Phone and Technology
Every time I turn you on
and wake you from your technological slumber,
I feel your curses swimming through my mind -
electrical impulses gripping me without consent.
And then I hate my neediness.
Hate my discontent,
unable to sit alone in the silence
without your warm glow,
without your unending hits of dopamine.
I'm addicted to a hooker
personally on call for me 24/7.
Who's ready and willing
to meet my every need.
Who's ready to stroke my ego on demand.
Who's ready to enrage me with the news.
Who conceals my flaws and accentuates my strengths.
Who vindicates me in the face of enemies.
Who lets me ride the tide of emotions on repeat.
Who never asks me for my money.
Only my time.