Velcro rips —

Velcro rips —

a brutal clap

against the waiting room’s hush.

The sound jagged and loud,

a broken promise tearing loose

like the frayed edges of a worn sneaker tongue,

stuck and stubborn.

It’s the crack in a quiet day,

a sudden sharpness cutting through

like a warning bell or a cracked spine,

telling stories in a language nobody wants.

This tear unspools, relentless,

like a child’s restless fidgeting,

and the world listens,

breath held, half-formed.