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It doesn’t feel like falling apart.

It’s not a splintered collapse.
Not a loud shattering.
Not a flood crashing in
to drown everything at once.

It’s an emptied space inside you,
growing wider by the day,
pressing against your ribs,
your throat,
your will to keep going.

You can’t fight it.
You can’t fix it.
You can’t even name it.
But it settles in your spine.

It’s not loud.
It’s slow.
It’s steady.
Suffocating.
Like your own body forgetting
how to hold itself up.

It doesn’t make you hurt to breathe.
Maybe it’s just because you don’t breathe
the way you used to.

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