The Aftershock

Another evening on the couch,

the news flickers in a haze,

the world spinning outside,

as I slip into that numbing drone.

Images bleed together,

the sky a tapestry of storms,

a commercial breaks the weight,

as if shiny things can distract

the heart from its pulse.

And I’m left wondering if the world

is merely a backdrop to my tired eyes,

if the disasters that fall like rain

mean anything beyond the screen,

or if I’ve become just a vessel,

a blur in the backdrop of this chaos,

as voices merge into monotony,

a broken record that plays on.