The zipper’s quiet

That zipper—sharp and sudden,

closing cold teeth over skin not mine.

The sound cuts the room,

sticks to the back of my throat like iron.

On screen, it’s a final line drawn tight,

a whisper wrapped in rubber,

a closing argument in a court with no jury.

I can’t unhear the grind, the snap,

something brutal, precise.

It presses against my chest,

that metallic slide—quiet as death’s knock,

alive in the silence after.