Knocks and bass

The door shook with knuckles—angry,

a fist pounding late like a second alarm.

Bass throbbed beneath the walls,

pulsing through the thin wood.

I pressed my ear to cracked paint,

felt the rhythm, sharp and stubborn,

heard the neighbor’s voice break,

a splinter in the dark.

Midnight’s silence was broken

by fists and soundwaves wrestling,

a cold reminder that some noise

won’t stay folded inside the night.

The complaint came, heavy and red,

a sudden crack in the half-dream,

and I—awake—watched it stretch

like a wound that wouldn’t heal.