Disconnected

She sits silent in her darkened room
     wild-eyed, staring at the wall like a distant mirage
     eating her lower lip as if
     she hadn't had a proper meal in weeks

She feels the rain as it begins to drum on
     the roof; her toes nervously keep time
     on the old oak floor as her gaze shifts
     to the dark void that was once a TV
     screen; she is missing her stories...

She twitches occasionally as the electric
     tension she holds in her shoulders
     fires lightning bolts down her limbs;
     her anxiety could power a small
     city, if only she could plug into the grid

She is frozen in time, the fearlessness of
     childhood poverty now melted into the
     powerless-ness of adult desperation

She forces herself back to reality, picks up
     the pen, and writes the check
     she knows she can't cover