Ceiling Cracks

The ceiling. White, then gray, then blue.

Another night, seeing right through

my own tired self, the clock a hum

I swear I can feel in my teeth, come

four AM. Still no sleep.

Just the spiderweb of cracks, I trace

with my eyes, across this empty space.

Small rivers, branching out, unknown.

What did I say? Or leave alone?

The questions loop, a tired, quiet song.

All night, for too long. Too long.