On my ceiling there is a crack.
A track that splits the plasterboard
just by the light.
One night, after the fight
I lie, shivering on the settee,
only me, and a thin sheet.
Until I hear the beat. Beat. Beat.
On my ceiling there is a crack.
And now the thwack! of water beading,
weeding its way between the plaster.
Faster it falls down,
but don’t worry, I can’t drown.
On my ceiling there is a crack.
It’s open now.
There’s no going back.

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