Patch Notes for a Dying Body

At first the updates were small:
less sleep, more focus,
a filter for grief.
I read them at 03:17
under the office's blue strip lights.
Stay efficient.

Soon my palms hummed after work.
Every app wanted uptime.
I tapped “Always Allow”
with a thumb that shook.
Stay online.

A hairline crossed the screen.
I called it a deadline.
By winter, the mirror held my cough
in the corner of its glass.
The fever arrived with a calendar invite.
Stay productive.

At dawn, the kettle clicked off.
The laptop asked to restart.
I left it waiting.
Both hands around the mug,
I watched the last heat leave.
The morning went on
without my password.