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8/9/20

17

inside the attic of the house there was a fog,
a lilting, languid sort of thing, it felt like forgetting
to raise your head above the collapsing ladder
and into that space. for the life of me
i can't sense what it looked like,
holding out my hands in the dark,
running along the wiring on the gently crumbling walls
to find that lightswitch that never came.

my brother found something in the blackness,
on a family holiday; he stayed behind
and waved to us from the window as we left
before turning into the hallway and gazing upwards,
through the ceiling, layered with carbonated concrete
and heat-resistant foam. when we returned
and picked him up he felt lighter, like there was less to hold.

a small hole appeared in my ceiling, nearly microscopic, but
it was more than enough. the fog sept into my bedroom,
it circulated, it looked at me when i slept.
i saw my knees buckle, a soft chill touched my spine
as i turned, fell into bed, slept for days.
i stumbled down the stairs, a sole memory blurred before me,
seeing vestiges on my skin like handprints and inkblots,
and there was a resounding silence
as my smothered body refused to shatter.