Fingers race across electronic letters, like lightning,
Lashing at the black keys
As if they were tall standing trees
In a thunderstorm,
Lacing messages with condolences and
Words of comfort that carry no weight
In a desperate attempt to calm the rainstorm that is
Soaking the glass of her friend’s screen and
Dotting the sheets of her bed.
It sounds disheartening
But it’s just another conversation for her
And all she can hope for is that twenty minutes away
She hasn’t started scrawling her misfortunes into her skin
Hasn’t picked up her gray pen that writes in red,
Illustrating reminders of tonight,
Scarring her skin with agony
And as she tries to stop the crimson words from flowing
She can feel herself,
Like the phone in her hand,
Slowly losing power