Where Plans Crack and Fall Apart

I thought the ceiling would stay steady,

a smooth white plane, untouched by doubt.

But cracks crawl slowly, shadows spread,

like loose screws falling all about.

I pictured hours measured and full,

not this stretch of empty walls.

The friend’s words jabbed sharp, offhand—

"You’ve got it all," their voice that falls.

Instead, I stare where plaster peels,

tiny shadows from the dead bulb’s glow.

The plans unravel, soft and slow,

a room that’s never quite my own.