Sevenohthree again the floorboard groans

Seven-oh-three again, the floorboard groans,

timed by heavy boots, the same old moan.

I stare at ceiling cracks, mind jolted awake,

that creak like a signal I never can shake.

Last night was thin, sleep sliced and bled—

this rhythm drills inside my head.

A cracked tile bends beneath that step’s weight,

knowing exactly when to punctuate.

My alarm beeps—he stomps the floor,

a mechanical knock I can’t ignore.