Just Before the Spill

The line is thin, a thread pulled tight,

between the day and falling night.

My jaw aches, clenched, against the urge,

a quiet, rising, silent surge.

My eyes, they prickle, hot and raw,

ignoring some unspoken law.

My throat closes, a sudden catch,

a tiny, desperate, futile patch

on something frayed inside of me.

I breathe too shallow, trying to be

a wall, a dam, to hold it back.

Just a hairline, a tiny crack.