Drip

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Is that the drip of the tap? As it
rushes through the pipes, only
to be let out drop by drop, water torture.

Or is it the drip of your tears? As they
launch themselves down your face like
damp bullets from a pupil-pistol.

Or is it the drip of his blood? As your knife sinks deep into his gut like a shark's tooth, tasting his intestines and ripping them out.

Or is it the drip of your snot? As it runs a
marathon from your nostril as you ache
with the wrath of an illness out to get you.

Or is it the drip of her drink? As it
tumbles down the table edge from a spillage
she caused.

Or is it the drip of a waterfall? As it
cascades down slippery rocks into the
watery abyss below.

Or is it the drip of morphine? As you
silently suffer in a hospital bed
because the driver couldn't stop.

Or is the drip of acid? As it
falls down your burning oesophagus and into
your deteriorating stomach.

Drip. Drip. Drip.