The Leaky Faucet

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The faucet mocks me in the dark,

a slow, nagging metronome

keeping time with my delay.

Each drop a tiny hammer

against chipped porcelain,

a beat I promised to silence,

yet the sound curls into the night.

I keep meaning to fix it—

grab the wrench, stop the leak.

But the noise is sticky,

latching onto my patience,

like a fault line under calm water.

It waits,

and I listen,

held hostage

by one small drip.