A Drop and No Peace

The faucet’s slow, relentless drip

beats against the chipped sink basin—

a single drop caught mid-fall,

hovering like it’s weighing its sins.

I twist the handle once again,

a failed attempt to stop the leak,

but water plays the patient thief,

sneaking through cracks I can’t quite see.

Midnight’s silence breaks in splashes,

drops like tiny blame notes falling,

somewhere between want and loss,

quiet grief that’s dripping, calling.

I lie awake, counting drops—

what leaks out when you’re not looking,

a slow betrayal, time unspooling,

till even sleep gives up its fight.