The Fortress

psychological-horrornihilismfutilitydark-poetrymortalityisolation

I spent thirty years teaching this heart to endure.
Swallowing panic.
Stitching wounds in the dark.
Building a fortress out of scavenged bone.

And then, on an ordinary Tuesday,
the floor beneath my ribs gave out.

The clock on the wall didn’t even skip a tick.
Thirty years of fighting to survive,
evicted by my own pulse.


psychological-horrornihilismfutilitydark-poetrymortalityisolation