Sitting slumped at the desk I catch my own gaze

Sitting slumped at the desk, I catch my own gaze,

a silhouette bending like light through the haze.

The window’s reflection reveals what I dread,

my spirit is folding, my posture is lead.

Each curve of my spine feels a story retold,

every wrinkle, a testament, body grown old.

Light slices through dust, illuminating my shame,

while I’m trapped in this pattern, this unyielding frame.

I fold in like paper, edges creased tight,

forgotten and frayed, losing my fight.