When the Alarm Sleeps

Smoke snakes soft beneath the door,

quiet but crawling,

no siren's crack to cut through the still.

The burnt oil smell thickens,

pressing at my throat,

waiting for a warning that never sounds.

Eyes sting, heart skips uneven,

while the ceiling holds its breath,

blank and unyielding as a stone.

The quiet screams loudest,

and the fire sleeps,

unnoticed and slow,

until it’s nothing but grey traces

clinging to the dark.