The small hollow

In the mirror’s cracked glare,

a small cavern yawns,

empty and pale beneath a loose thread.

The fabric catches, jerks—a sudden tug

against a place forgotten,

pressing into flesh soft and thin.

Like a cave untouched by light,

a hollow I barely knew I had,

quiet as breath held between ribs,

vulnerable, small,

bare beneath the shirt’s careless weave.