Ten on a bed clearly made for such nights
When the pizza never ends
and the zombies keep on coming
And those with steady thumbs make blood droplets dance on screen
while those with big voices whoop in envious appreciation

Ten fingers on hands clearly made for such times
When the knots in my back threaten to choke me again
and the zombies keep coming
but so do ten strong fingers
All eyes on the screen
and no eyes where we're going,
down and down and down and down.

Ten on the clock clearly wrong on this night
Because there's no way it's time to go yet
When the blood droplets are still dancing on screen
fists are still pounding the bed
and fingers are still burning trails
across my shoulder blades and

into my hair
And that redness in our cheeks isn't the blood on the screen,
it's on the bed,
in the dark,
and there are ten reasons to go but ten million more to stay
(every single one a striation in their irises)
and five more minutes can't do any harm.