Rain dripping on the roof like steel bullets on a silent night
nights the room was too hot to sleep
That one buzzing mosquito hiding under Harry’s cloak. Or wait is it the phone. Vibrating under the pillow.
Noise, the clicking of the clock, the rattling of the fan, the throbbing of your heart, that chirping cricket which has been hiding since 1998, and that crow which never sleeps.
The sound of a leaky tap falling into an overflowing blue bucket
Yet becoming fuller with every drop.
Like a countdown to a disaster bound to happen.
Mouth too dry to swallow the truth
force-fed to you every day
Like trying to swallow a fist full of sand which turns to stone in your throat
That blinking streetlight, blinking since eternity on that dark street.
The road is always crowded yet too deserted to feel safe.
The stinky smell of a cigarette burning clunked between bloody knuckles and echoing sobs
The alarm clock ringing for two hours, waking up everyone but the one.
The ringing of the perpetually falling plate when you were trying to make no noise that night. Trying to quench that dry and cracked throat.
The nights when you hugged the wet pillow breaking it’s ribs
The scratching of the pen as you scribble meaninglessly in the margins of the sunday magazine
In a tongue no one understands. The ink overflowing from the tip, clenched too tight between the fingers, leaving a red stain on the thumb
Trying to wash it off under that leaky tap rubbing it ferociously
“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand”
Ears ringing like a grenade exploded next to them
In that shrill ringing noise, a whisper from behind “It’s all in your head”