The Grind

The email sent.

The screen went dark.

A kind of quiet, like the end

of something sharp.

Then the ache began, a steady thrum,

behind my ears, a dull, slow spread.

My jaw, a vise, had become numb

from clenching, the words unsaid.

Hours, I guess.

My mind had moved on,

to groceries, or the price of rent.

But my teeth, they kept their silent pawn,

a record of the energy spent.

My tongue, a stranger, rubbed the ridge.

No conscious thought, just muscle-bound.

Another secret on the nerve-bridge.

Another tension, silently found.