Scroll Fatigue
Whispers flicker beneath the waking hum—Child’s obituary, missile shock,
kitten on a drum.Another street collapsed, another mother’s plea,
A bloodstain dulled by comedy,
a headline lost to glee.Eyes red-rimmed at morning’s start,
already glazed and void,
A world delivered byte by byte, too fractured to avoid.News blurs with fashion,
death with wit, the timeline never ends,
Fingers swim through ruined towns,
then pause for friends of friends.Each thumbprint scours the jagged scroll,
unspooling loss and pride,
A feed of horrors packed with laughs, and nothing left inside.
The rhythm’s frantic—stats and memes, the violence scrolls with flair,
A headline sings, then melts away,
replaced by pop-up care.Rage dissolves to recipes,
a child’s corpse fades for shoes,
No time to mourn, just dopamine—another tragedy to lose.Protests break,
disasters smash, then calm as credits run,
Anxiety on discount sale, all empathy undone.Tired, yes,
but still the hand will chase the feed’s abyss,
Staring through the world’s collapse for something sweet to
miss.No meaning forms—just data churned and numbed to sated ache,
No space for sorrow, only scrolls, the mind too burned to break.
This isn’t knowing, just erasure—every grief a fleeting blur,
A body count, a candy ad, a selfie’s perfect slur.You call it living, call it news,
but nothing roots or grows,
A soup of loss and little thrills, and no one really knows.Caring, claimed,
then gone again—a flash of pain, a joke,
Your spirit spent on pixel ash, your will a bitter smoke.Apathy becomes defense,
attention split in glass,
Every crisis passed too soon, each echo doomed to pass.
Screens cast shadows on the soul—no dawn, no dusk, no sleep,
Each headline falls through shallow holes,
the wounds no longer deep.Eyes lose shape and hands forget the memory of a face,
The world recedes into the stream—no finish line,
no race.There is no fence to block the tide, no space untouched by dread,
No end to all that’s piped inside, no cure for what’s been fed.This is fatigue,
not by the mile, but by the infinite slide,
A hunger that devours life, a spirit splayed and wide.
And so the fingers twitch again, eyes lost behind the screen,
A loop of violence, fame, and shame—no way to intervene.Sated,
but never satisfied; tired, but never gone,
A thumb that weeps for comfort swipes the ruins on
and on.Scroll fatigue—unending page, a graveyard of the will,
Where nothing stops, and all the world grows silent, scrolling still.