a square of metal

it's an addiction
this
phone. these texts.
these
emails,
these voicemails.
this constant need to
look and check
what the ding is,
what the vibration means,
what the light
glowing could possibly
be.
it's a sick world
we've made.
no conversation. no
gentle touch
of hand in hand. no
power to stop reaching
for what was,
what's ended.
we're slaves to this
square of metal.
till death do you part.