Lost corners

The streets close in like tired lungs,

pavement cracked where my footsteps used to fit.

Graffiti peels from brick like old promises,

and rusted signs lean away, tired of holding meaning.

I slip past the corners I knew—

the coffee shop, the cracked lamppost—

everything smaller, too sharp, too distant.

The air smells of rain and regret,

a city folded like a closed book,

pages unread, the story left unfinished.

I walk on, never looking back,

the past held in the tight grip

of cracked sidewalks and lost names.