The Discharge

The heater groans and the air goes thin.

I move like a ghost through the hallway's gloom.

I’m losing the moisture under my skin

while the winter settles inside the room.

I reached for the handle to get a drink

and a blue spark bit me, sudden and sharp.

It makes me pause, it makes me think

of a broken string on a metal harp.

My synthetic sweater is sticking to my chest,

clinging to my ribs like a desperate hand.

I’m a jagged wire, I’m a mess,

waiting for a shock I can't withstand.