Walls Thin as Paper

Folded paper taped askew,

edges curled like tired hands.

Upstairs, the bass bangs hard,

a fist on thin plaster,

and voices crack, spill

like broken glass.

The landlord's note, yellowed

and loud with blame,

presses cold against my door,

a weight I cannot lift.

Sleep fractures in ragged shards,

some nights thick with fight,

others empty, waiting,

quiet as the pause between breath and scream.

I fold the letter again,

trying to catch the sound

before it breaks me down.