The Rabbit Hole

My left eye is jumping, a twitch in the skin,

a tiny, frantic motor that’s humming within.

I’m holding the phone in the dark of the bed,

feeding the monsters that live in my head.

A forum from a decade ago says it’s the end,

a slow-motion break that no doctor can mend.

I’m reading about nerves and the way they decay

while the rest of the world is a lifetime away.

The blue light is stinging, a sharp, digital salt,

and everything happening is entirely my fault.

My thumb is a ghost on the glass of the screen,

searching for a horror I’ve already seen.