hang time, the suspension of belief, that one crucial moment where we wait with baited breath and our lungs fill to capacity and it would be a marvel that we were still breathing if the nail wasn’t set to puncture us all.
hang time, the noose around her neck, while we wait for the trap door to drop and for her to kick at us and we toss stones against her forehead and her torso and her knees, scratched and bruised and scabbed with every lie.
hang time, where calloused fingers loosen their grip and i fall forever and ever into the mouth of this disappointment, having said it and done, over and over until raw, until my throat is hoarse from screaming your name.
hang time, all over again until it is over.