I am stuck in a version of life
that used to fit like skin
but now drapes heavy
like fabric soaked in something I can’t wash out.
Every decision I made
was loud with purpose,
each one a small explosion
meant to prove I was moving,
meant to keep me upright.
But I lost track
of what I was chasing.
Now the walls lean in.
They don’t ask questions.
They press.
They stay.
And now the days
blur into each other
like sleep I can’t feel,
like time I forgot to notice,
like I’m watching everything
from somewhere far beneath myself.
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 1:37 PM UTC
I am stuck in a version of life
that used to fit like skin
but now drapes heavy
like fabric soaked in something I can’t wash out.
Every decision I made
was loud with purpose,
each one a small explosion
meant to prove I was moving,
meant to keep me upright.
But I lost track
of what I was chasing.
Now the walls lean in.
They don’t ask questions.
They press.
They stay.
And now the days
blur into each other
like sleep I can’t feel,
like time I forgot to notice,
like I’m watching everything
from somewhere far beneath myself.