Shake

Am I hindered by the clasp that wraps electric round my wrist, or by the sleek and silent tile that sneaks its way into my fist?

And suddenly, there’s so much noise, like burying my face in coke, and even as I turn away, the high remains, my eyes awoke and bright in dark. I swear I spoke a prayer into that dizzy night to let me sleep, and hold her tight, without the fear and anxious din, without it pawing for my PIN, without the midnight altercations, without the heat manifestations taking form beside my bed; I leap and try to knock it dead, and cry out something vile, and see there’s nothing facing back at me, just beads of sweat to burn my eyes, and force me back to bed half-blind, attempting once again to shake my perma-state of half-awake.