Sweat stings my face—  
not from effort,  
but from holding it together  
too long.

Something’s gone quiet  
deep inside.  
Not peace.  
Just absence.

My heart feels hollowed  
by repetition.  
Even pain gets bored  
when it’s expected.

I’m suffocating  
under normalized collapse.  
Spacing out like it’s ritual.  
Fading  
like my body forgot how to stay loud.

Ran thinned.  
Worn through.  
Care spilled out  
and didn’t come back.

There’s no scream.  
Just dust in the throat.  
Just me,  
still here,  
watching the nothing pile up  
like it might mean something again.