The Slow Rot Behind the Shine

Water drips—

a broken pulse on metal worn thin.

Orange flakes curl like brittle secrets,

old scars pooling in the sink’s hollow.

Faucet gags, rusty throat spitting

time’s slow poison,

every drop a soft hiss,

a quiet undoing underneath the shine.

I stare down the hollowed rim,

watching slow erosion, silent sabotage,

the way things fall apart

beneath the surface, unseen but certain.

It’s a tired fight—

a war no one wins

against the drip of rust,

the quiet bite eating away at steady.