Ceiling Time

The refrigerator hummed its low, steady song,

and I just lay there, watching a ceiling crack.

It started near the light fixture, wandered long

across the plaster, a slow, silent attack.

Twenty minutes, maybe more. My own breath

felt loud, foreign. The air was thick, like soup.

I thought about what lay beneath, about death,

or just how much emptiness a single room can hold.

My thoughts were words I couldn't understand.

Just shapes passing, nothing solid to grasp.

That faint crack, it was the most real thing at hand.

Time kept stretching, making my mind gasp.