Chapter Text
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the walls are breathing, closing in,
a thousand whispers made of skin.
i feel them press against my chest,
like birds that pound their wings to rest.
they ask me questions without sound—
their voices hollow, all around.
i long to speak, but words betray,
and silence swallows what i say.
my soul is tangled in a thread
of things unsaid, of dreams half-dead.
i ache to rise, to break, to burn—
but all i’ve learned is how to turn.
is this the price? to live this quiet?
to drown in noise, but still deny it?
the world spins on, and i remain—
a shadow, caught in quiet rain.
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d. miller, 2025