Static
by Mae Grey
· 13/12/2025
Published 13/12/2025 10:02
The house is talking to itself.
A floorboard groans in the hall.
The fridge hums its long, cold song,
cutting through the dark.
The pillow is a drum.
I can hear the blood in the ear,
thumping against the foam.
On the ceiling, the red eye.
The smoke detector blinks.
Waiting for a fire
that isn't coming.