The ceiling flickers—buzz buzz—

The ceiling flickers—buzz, buzz—

white light sharp as an unwanted word.

I lean back, skin stretched thin

across the ridge of my collarbone.

Shadows gather there, hard edges,

as if the bone itself is bruised, raw,

a line that pulls the light into a bruise.

Fluorescent hum holds me like a secret,

a small ache beneath the throat,

the place you don’t touch,

but feels the weight of everything anyway.