I’m going to sit here and type.
I’m going to open tab after tab,
window after window of meaningless chatter
and elusive illusions of connection while I
myself am distant silent disengaged
pretending that I am fine,
that I am not waiting for clouds to shroud the moon,
for that perfect tock of the clock just between 11:59
or some other such pathetic romantic notion of self-import
where the numbness can twist fuse morph
into rage loathing hatred
into hopelessness sadness despair
into the gentle glint as the silver kisses my skin,
brings forth rubies.