Squeeze the Days

Blue light bleeds across my palm,

a glare of numbers pushing back.

Twenty-seven breaths to steal,

all penned in tight, no room to crack.

Colored boxes stack and fight—

meetings bleed into deadlines, blurred.

Every hour like wet paper pressed

against a calendar's paper nerve.

I scroll and find the edges fray,

pages too full to close or fold.

My mind snaps like a brittle twig,

snared beneath days overbold.

Too many colors in one frame,

too many lives I never claim.

Trying to squeeze the light inside

and watch it leak between the lines.