Teeth

It’s a noise. 

A god forsaken buzzing like a billion insects nesting in a hollow rock; reverberating through all of the hundred and eighty two centimeters good genes and nutrition have seen fit to gift you.

It’s all the hounds of perdition howling at your gates.

It’s the surface of a lake during a summer storm, chaos, fury and knife edge winds.

It’s the inevitable, creeping darkness, the slow-rot of roots in the warm earth.

It’s slowly losing your grip on the light you used to own and finding rage like you've never known.  

It’s a long-lost conversation that found you, and held you and kept you dry in the rain.

A gnashing set of stained teeth in the pit of my chest.

Falling headfirst into this fresh void, I place my hands on the scale to tip the balance.

Hoping to gain more than I lose.