Fluorescent flicker in a damp maze

Fluorescent flicker in a damp maze,

lines faded yellow beneath tired tires.

Loop after loop,

the air thick with waiting,

a scent of bleach and old rubber

that clings to the back of the throat.

Each circle tightens my chest,

tight as the quiet behind closed doors,

a breath held too long

between arrivals and departures.

I count the cracks in concrete ceilings,

watch the sick glow of lights above,

wondering how long it takes

for hope to settle—or break.