Quiet Things That Cling

I don't want to die.

But some nights,

I want to disappear so gently

Even the dust wouldn't notice.

There are thoughts that knock-

Not loud,

Just long enough to wear the hinges thin.

What if I drove a little faster?

What if I vanish mid-sentence?

What if the world forgot to need me?

They aren't wishes.

Just shadows

Sitting too long in my skull.

I still make my bed.

Still laugh when I'm supposed to.

Still answer the door

As if I don't live behind glass.

But sometimes,

I stare at sharp corners

Like they're doorways

Instead of edges.

People ask how I'm doing,

And I say, "Tired."

It's the only word big enough

To hide the real ones:

Unraveling.

Flooded.

Gone.

There's a war no one sees-

Not loud, not bloody,

Just a slow undoing

Taking the shape of silence.

I want the pain to stop

Without losing myself in the process.

I want to step out of the fire

Without turning to smoke.

I am not broken,

But I am fraying.

Quietly.

Elegantly.

Like paper that's been folded too many times

And still keeps trying to be a crane.