The radiator ticks at night

The radiator ticks at night.

I count the ticks. It's my rite.

One to sixty. Then again.

The apartment speaks. No friend

but the sound of metal

expanding. A settled

rhythm I can't ignore.

The ticking keeps score.

I lie in bed and listen.

The darkness starts to glisten

with sound. Just sound.

The apartment is wound

up tight. It expands and contracts.

The night cracks

open to let the noise through.

Everything I can do

is count. Is listen. Is stay

awake while time ticks away.

The radiator is alive.

The apartment won't let me survive

in silence. So I'm here,

counting, listening, clear

that I'm the only one awake

while the building speaks. I take

this sound. I carry it.

I wonder if it's fit

for me. This voice of metal.

This rhythm that won't settle.

If it stops, I'll panic.

If it continues, I'm manic.

There's no winning. Just ticks.

Just the sound that sticks.