Hands held in jail

A simple wreck of proportions 

Cell phone

Holding on 

Through every bend

Like a contortionist

Careful time delegation

In a room of lavish embellishments 

Awaiting

Through the gliding feel of the phone

Like a fresh shave in the morning

With force it reckons you back 

To embark on internets past

Although you may reject its request for 

Time and energy

You can not disagree

With the phones ability

To consistently

Win you back

It is a vigilant time apparatus

Strapped around your head

Walking through the muck

Of the walking dead

It’s valuable sensation

Is an impeccable sum

In the moments surrounding

The wild humdrum