The Loop, Or, A Sticky Key

My finger, raw at the edge,

hovers, then taps, the screen.

That little blue circle, a pledge

of something, a hope, maybe? No, just a routine.

The inbox, still empty, a blank,

a desert. I know there's no news.

But my mind, it plays this cruel prank,

makes me hunt for a message, a clue, a muse.

Tap. Refresh. Again. The same,

white space, a mirror, mocking me.

It's just a game, this digital fame,

this need to see what isn't there, you see.

My skin around the nail, pulled tight,

a habit, a nervous little tear.

The screen glows, a pale, cold light,

and I'm stuck, waiting, right here.