crash

You’re spitting ‘server busy’ like it’s some kind of litany
and wearing your smile with cut-glass ice
so that your face is a perfect ghost
for the man that watches you a million miles away

There’s no song to sort the chaos in your head
no words to console you

You could melt away flesh with the heat that pours out of this thing
metal hot and whirring skin
you’d drag the fragments to draw blood
if you thought for a minute it would achieve something

Little red crosses where your eyes should be
should I worry?

An angry sound shudders through the screen
you’ve made them happy
they like the way you wince with pain
as if to say it’s not a game
they like the way you flash your brain
as if your thoughts were laser lights

And the way your tears spit and fizz so bright
spilling alphabets on keyboards
my memory short-circuits
I can’t recall the last time I felt your flesh

you’re sad beyond reason
you’re typing’s obscene

Little red crosses where your eyes should be
should I worry?
should I dream?

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