The High E

The floorboards caught my keys with a thud

that felt like a stone falling into the mud.

But I couldn't hear the metal ring—

just the high, steady ghost of a different thing.

The band was a wall, a physical heat.

Now it’s just me and the fridge in the dark.

The hum of the motor is trying to beat

the sound in my head, like a cold, white spark.

Everything sounds like I’m under a lake.

I’m waiting for the silence to finally break.