Wired Human: Bone Tired, Not Broken

Wireframe figures tethered to glowing screens against a bright background. Generated for Skendong Poetry.

Wired Human

A visual Manchester poem tracking digital burnout, real-world chaos, and the fight to reset an overloaded system.

TIRED
WIRED
HIRED
STRESS
From the
outside in
VAGUS
NERVE
        Sympathetic storm, no predator,

just a phone. Just a headline.

Just a memory that won’t

close its tab.
        That pair of 80,000 fibres

is a frayed extension cord

someone is stepping on.
        I sniffed Frankincense

essential oil. Shortly after

the dibble collared me.

First mental breakdown.
        Cold plunge first –

parasympathetic after.

If you wait long enough…

If you don’t gasp…

If you don’t check your phone

the second you get out.
        Take ten deep breaths. 

I did it.
        My heart slowed,

My mind didn’t.
        I sat on the wall at Bridge 87,

Scanned my body

and found tension.
        So no podcast, no blower.

Just the hum of my own

nervous system.
        And as I marvelled at this

novel feeling, the phone buzzed

and I couldn’t ignore it.
        Evenings – 

without screens I tried.
        The wired doesn’t respect

a schedule. Face dunked in

cold water. Cortisol lower.

Felt better.
        The old white-haired

fraudster said as we bed down

for court in the morning:

Just say sorry!
        You had financial issues,

Relationship problems,

Neighbour problems.
        I was bone tired

not broken.
        Not in need of reset.

Just in need of flexibility.
        The ability to rise

and then recover.
 

To surge

and then settle.
        To be tangled

then untangle.
        An electric wired human exhausted.
        Need sleep.
        Recharge.
        Then I’m alive!
        Again.
        Again.
        Again.