The thin plaster shakes with the sound of a fist

The thin plaster shakes with the sound of a fist,

once soft laughter turned harsh, in a space I can’t twist.

My neighbor, a stranger with secrets to share,

once we exchanged bread, now fragments of air.

Echoes of anger, a rift growing wide,

words slip like shadows, I’m left here to hide.

Each day as I pass, the walls close in tight,

a haunting reminder of what went from right.