I check again—screen lit like a tiny altar

I check again—screen lit like a tiny altar,

fingers tapping, twitching,

clockwork in the dark room.

Every three minutes,

a ritual harder to break than breath,

hope flickering in the glow,

maybe a call, maybe a sign,

maybe the pause between heartbeats

is the only thing I can measure.

This tick, tick, tick—

the sound of waiting

shoved down my throat,

sticky and bitter,

compulsion that tastes like

empty pockets and cold sweat.