an apostrophe on the last syllable
of his groan, ooh', just to make her count
the slashes on her thighs to understand
she wasn't doing things right (but people,
it was just him that's got to count for
somethingsomething s
omething)

but she was never good at this chatspeak,
anyway, so the christmas lights on her ceiling
burnt out with the boy in the striped pajamas
as he lit another cigarette with a dead match
and told her the story she already knew, of how
craigslist is for suicidal tendencies and how
you can't even trust yourself, we spend all our
lives looking for the delete button that slipped off
the keyboard, because we've lost c o n t r o l

(ctrl alt delete)

and she was never good at this chatspeak, anyway.