Chronic

I’m sitting over here
And there you are
Flicking off brain cells
Like ants
Right before
Before the next post…
Knowing this is just what I do
As a filler (for now)
But that doesn’t stop you
From smoke bombing
The economy of my writing
That keeps us alive
For a little while longer
Yet I found myself
Waiting for this cloud
Of anger
To ease up
And I’d even ask you
To stop
Leaning back
(On your brilliant insights)
If only, you weren’t busy
Foraging
(Like some devout worker caste)
For
Home.