the soft strings of the carpet nudge against my back
creating small imprints along my skin, itching, begging for me to sit up
my eyes fixate on the bright bulbs casting from my ceiling fan, burning, forming fresh pools at their edges
i shiver with each whir of the blades, desiring the pile of blankets to the left of me, but too withdrawn to reach them
i can sense the past presences, the prior sensations of comfort
inching further away
past the gold curtains, past the tiny twinkles of light, past the panes of glass
until they're lying in the street like shards of bottles crunching beneath tires
my security has always had an expiration date
a defined, temporary existence stamped with saturated ink, illustrating its eventual departure from me
i try to hold myself together, my bare arms wrapping around my torso
attempting to fill previous molds until my skin feels whole
but my arms are too weak