I peeled off my jacket — cotton clung tight

I peeled off my jacket — cotton clung tight

like a second skin stretched over tired bones.

The light hum of the fridge, steady and dull,

caught the pale ridge of my spine

pressed thin through threadbare fabric.

It’s been a long day — shoulders rolled forward,

neck cricked to one side, leaning into nothing.

That pale line was the only thing standing,

broken but honest beneath the worn shirt.

I sank into the chair like a deflating bag,

and my spine let out a quiet creak,

a sound too soft to name.

No relief, just the weight of hours folded

like folded laundry, stiff and waiting.