Ceiling Watch

Water stains map out slow decay,

a rusted screw holds one tile’s sway.

The flickering light above my face,

casts shadows in that dusty place.

I traced each crack with restless eyes,

a child caught in waiting’s rise.

The air was stale, a heavy drum,

where time moved slow, and fear was numb.

That ceiling held me long and still,

a quiet weight I carry still.