He doesn’t know what to write about.
Not many things to be said out loud.

He’s sad, the world’s a whirling storm,
A place that lost its gentle form.

He sat in the bathroom for hours on end,
Scrubbing off the guilt—too much to mend.

Looked himself up and down with a frown,
Wished he could wash those details down.

Cut his already painfully short nails,
Still couldn’t forget the smallest details.

Mindlessly scrolled through Instagram,
But didn’t really give a ****.

He deleted TikTok, Insta, all that noise,
Left with google and Wikipedia—no joys.

So he scrolls through YouTube shorts,
At least it’s not meta or Chinese imports.

Still can’t delete WhatsApp,
Feels like a trap.

But he uses Signal most of the time,
And then tries to make his words rhyme.