Static in the Walls
The clock on the stove blinks 12:00, a midnight that never ends.
Mom slams a plate, the dog slinks away.
Dad’s boots thump—
he’s coming through the kitchen.
He’s always coming.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Wipe that smirk off your face.”
“You hear me, boy? Don’t you walk away.”
The words push through like smoke under the door,
heavy, gray, curling up the walls.
I can’t tell where the threat ends and the silence begins.
“Shut your rotten mouth.”
“Rotten spoiled piece of shit.”
He leans in close, stubble scraping,
eyes bloodshot, voice thick as mud—
“You’re in my house. Don’t forget it.”
His hand on the back of my neck,
not hard, but tight enough.
I smell beer and burnt food and old anger.
Mom’s in her corner with a cracked coffee mug,
eyes red, voice flat,
her own set of broken-record lines—
“Just let it go. Don’t start with him.”
“Can’t you just shut up for once?”
Her face never quite in focus,
shadowed, warped by tears she never spills.
“If you’d just behave, he wouldn’t…”
“Don’t make him angry.”
“Don’t make it worse.”
Every meal tastes like ash and apology.
Forks scrape, nobody chews.
I hold my breath and memorize the escape routes.
The back door, the window,
the dreams that turn to ash before dawn.
All the words run together in a haze.
I lose count, lose sense, lose time.
TV fuzz and the drone of the fridge,
and always the static,
always the static through the walls.
Sometimes he’s soft—
the way a knife is soft before it slides in.
“You know I work hard for you.”
“You think you’re tough? You ain’t tough.”
“Go ahead. Run. I’ll drag you back.”
Years stack up like empty bottles behind the shed.
Nothing thrown out, nothing forgiven.
The same old games, the same old scars.
My mouth is shut, jaw clenched tight—
words left unsaid grind my teeth to dust.
He stands in the doorway,
blocking out the last bit of light.
His voice is a storm that never leaves town.
“You’re in my house. Don’t you ever forget.”
“You’ll never leave.”
The echo follows me everywhere,
under my skin,
between my ribs,
a heartbeat of static that never goes quiet.
I stopped answering back years ago.
I still hear every word.
Static through the walls.
It never stops.
Shut your rotten mouth.
Rotten rotten rotten.
Rotting.
Rotmouth.