the air warps around me,
thick as honey,
slow as an apology that never comes.

i step in

a ghost with bones too solid,
a statue mid-topple,
something left in the sun too long.

the voices tangle like vines,
threading through spaces i don’t fit,
winding around my throat,
pulling too tight when i try to speak.

i hold my hands like they belong to someone else,
porcelain and brittle,
too smooth, too still,
waiting for someone to mold them into a shape
that makes sense.

the silence swells in my chest
a balloon too full,
a scream with no teeth,
a door that won’t open no matter how hard i knock.

i smile like it’s an answer.
i nod like i understand.

i stand in the center of the room
like a misplaced chair,
waiting for someone to sit,
waiting for someone to move me,
waiting to disappear.