Night Shift

The phone call ended, tight and thin,

a polite, cutting edge.

The things I couldn't let begin

to surface on that ledge.

So now the screen, a pale blue light,

reflects my face, unmade.

This hour, where truth feels right,

and every word is weighed.

That casual barb, that sideways swipe,

the judgment in their tone.

I type it out, a bitter stripe,

a seed I finally have sown.

It isn't safe, this silent war,

but safer than the air.

To lay it bare, and ask for more

than they were willing to share.