Fangs
I am broke
I am broken
I am tired
I am worn thin
the bills have fangs
they dig in
I wake to the heater
chewing pennies from the grate
overdue notices slide under the door
like spiders that can’t wait
I count quarters in the dark
like beads for my sins
hands black with coffee grounds
waiting for the panic to begin
The fridge hums louder
than my pulse in the den
carpet remembers every fight
we promised never to have again
You text “are you good”
and I type “sure”
with a smile I don’t own
watching the shadow of a man
in the window
who won’t leave me alone
Payday drifts past
like a ghost with butterfinger hands
dropping nickels through the floorboards
wrecking all my plans
The boss smiles a wolf smile
measuring my spine for the break
I nod like a dashboard bobblehead
just another plastic fake
Wishing the stoplights would bleed green
wishing the mail held no threats
wishing sleep was more
than a curtain nailed over my regrets
In the aisle doing math
with bruised fruit
and a cracked screen
whispering “not me, not tonight”
to the humming machine
I talk to the sink
it coughs rust
like a smoker’s lung
tapping out “spend what you don’t have”
with a metal tongue
I laugh the kind of laugh
that puts the soft hearts down
smelling like burnt sugar
and bad brakes in this town
The numbers climb the walls
like bugs in banker ties
I make promises to the ceiling
the ceiling answers with lies
In my head a switch flips
every shadow grows a knife
whispering
“cut the cord, cut the cost, cut the life”
Friends say “breathe”
and send emojis like bandages
that won’t stick
I nod through the ache
while the radiator gives a judge’s click
Neighbors laugh through the wall
about trips I can’t spell
I wonder what a dream is worth
if I decide to sell
The bed feels like a courtroom
the sheets call me a liar
I tell the dark I’ll fix the math
before the whole place catches fire
But the night just smiles
sharpens nails on the frame
ready to play the same old
hungry trick
Maybe tomorrow is a trapdoor
with a welcome mat
falling through thirty floors
of ringing phones and idle chat
Maybe I learn to scream quiet
like a kettle run dry
in the stairwell I hear a voice
that sounds like a lie
I answer with exact change
the silence counts it twice
leaving me with a busted cart
and a heart made of ice
When the lights go out
I can still see the teeth
I can still feel the bite
on the skin underneath
I keep breathing anyway
let the night file me down
to a smaller key
that fits every locked door
in this town