These days I speak in chalk, they hear in cheese,
my meanings crumble on the breeze.
I wake in strange places, though nothing's moved,
the same old room, but not improved.
The mirror knows me, but not my name
this quiet slipping, is this a game?
My voice returns from walls misheard,
each echo bends a faithful word.
I reach for sense, it turns to dust,
a language fractured by mistrust.
Familiar hands feel oddly worn,
like gloves I’ve kept since I was born.
The clock still ticks, but out of phase,
it counts in strange, uncharted ways.
And time, once firm beneath my feet,
now loops itself in soft defeat.
I walk, yet never quite arrive
am I the ghost, or still alive?
If I am chalk, then let me fade,
in quiet lines my truth once made.
And if they feast on cheese alone,
then let me learn to stand unknown.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 2:14 AM UTC
These days I speak in chalk, they hear in cheese,
my meanings crumble on the breeze.
I wake in strange places, though nothing's moved,
the same old room, but not improved.
The mirror knows me, but not my name
this quiet slipping, is this a game?
My voice returns from walls misheard,
each echo bends a faithful word.
I reach for sense, it turns to dust,
a language fractured by mistrust.
Familiar hands feel oddly worn,
like gloves I’ve kept since I was born.
The clock still ticks, but out of phase,
it counts in strange, uncharted ways.
And time, once firm beneath my feet,
now loops itself in soft defeat.
I walk, yet never quite arrive
am I the ghost, or still alive?
If I am chalk, then let me fade,
in quiet lines my truth once made.
And if they feast on cheese alone,
then let me learn to stand unknown.
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