out for delivery

I need it.

I must have it.

If I don’t, I’ll die.

So, I click.

Fuck my bank account.

When it comes, I’ll be complete.

Good.

Perfect.

I track the progress.

It’s on the way.

I clap with excitement.

It’s coming.

I wait.

It is out for delivery.

I wait.

I look out my door. I pace on the porch.

And then it’s delivered.

I get the scissors.

I open the box.

And it’s here.

It’s a little smaller than I thought it’d be.

But it makes me good. Perfect.

Until I need to click again.