Cord threaded up my arm, circling my throat
One phone in my ear, the other dangling off the bed
Spitting half of a song out into the stale air
The shapes dripping out, piling on the floor, unheard and forgotten.
All I see is the grey shadow cast by the fan on the ceiling,
Blades reaching out like crepuscular rays.
Crepuscular. That's your word of the day.
Look it up yourself. I don't feel like moving.
My apathy is too heavy,
Taking up too much space,
Its chasms pushing against
Lungs barely expanding enough to allow new air inside.
Beneath the weight, deep in that dark, my heart is a canary,
Tiny ribcage gasping,
Lost in the black,
The song suffocated out of me.
