That Breath Before

The chain clicks slow, grinding metal teeth,

a steady, grinding pulse that rattles the ribs.

The sky grows wide beyond the bars,

heart thick in the hollow of my throat.

We pause—caught at the summit’s edge,

waiting for that sudden, shattering drop,

world still as wet concrete,

stretched thin between silence and scream.

Time thickens, heavy, folding tight,

the breath caught sharp inside my chest,

a quiet before the fall,

and the slow slide into gravity’s mouth.