the air is stale,
like the taste of morning breath.
noises around me steadily lose their reality.
meaningful sounds all end up as silence.
the hush grows, deeper and deeper, like silt
on the bottom of the sea. i watch
as the layers pile
higher and higher.

the stench
of piled emotions, forced
mediocrity, of hands
on the analog clock
ticking past the surface of time.

unopened biscuit tins, rusted gold finishings
on closed bedroom doors.
blazing 2am desk lamps
instead of firecrackers.
keyboard clicks, coffee cup stains.

the air feels heavy, with glances
that never meet; sealed lips,
heavy airs, and hearts
that never hear each other.

the air is thick, and the thread -
holding us together,
holding me together,
so thin.

i used to be able to tell their thoughts
by the temperature. now, it reads
heavy. still.
like a rock on a riverbank.

and i let the waves wash over me,
just past the surface,
nothing deeper.

after all,
you can't increase nothingness.