“no where to hide“
The light is a forensic tool,
sliding through slats
to find the skin we shed in our sleep.
It illuminates air—
a slow, grey traffic of ghosts
settling on the dresser.
This is sedimentary silence.
Weeks of things unsaid
now have a physical weight;
they have become a fine, white silt
coating the glass of water,
veiling the unread book.
For hours, dark was a diplomat.
It negotiated a peace
between mess and mind,
softening jagged edges
of laundry pile and debt.
But the sun has no tact.
It strikes the floorboards
like a gavel,
pinning motes against air
until the very atmosphere
is a witness to our slow decay.
You reach for your watch,
and your thumb leaves a trail—
a clean, black scar
in a world of grey powder.
The radio preacher is still talking,
but the dust is louder.
It tells us that even while we slept,
we were falling apart.
And now, in the glare,
there is nowhere left for the pieces to hide.
.
a very macabre write I enjoyed it ❤️