The Repair Phase

I’m clicking through cells in a gray spreadsheet row,

while the burn on my arm starts to put on a show.

It’s tight and it’s shiny, a pale shade of pink,

making it harder and harder to think.

The brown crust is peeling in flakes on the bed,

as I scratch at the itch until the skin’s red.

It’s a sign that the body is fixing the tear,

but the process is something that’s hard to quite bear.