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.

Now the walls lean in.
They don’t ask questions.
They press.
They stay.
They remind me that stillness
can become suffocating
if you sit in it long enough.