Body of the infinite

Shower.

Towel.

Same steps.

Same floor.

Hands on autopilot

while the walls lean in.

I’m spinning,

body of the infinite~

cells like galaxies

crashing in the dark.

My eyes~black holes,

spitting out a universe

I can’t crawl out of.

Room tilts.

Breath short.

Skin hums.

Clock too loud.

Hold the routine

like a rope in a storm.

I’m spinning,

body of the infinite~

cells like galaxies

crashing in the dark.

My eyes~black holes,

spitting out a universe

I can’t crawl out of.

Their voices ripple~

not the words,

but something underneath,

humming just out of reach.

Like they’re speaking

through a veil of static,

and I’m the only one

who hears the code.

I look at their faces

and wonder if I ever knew them~

or if they were just

constellations passing

through my orbit.

Space is a mirror,

constellations in my veins.

Looking out to keep

from looking in.

Maybe the galaxies we chase

are only the ones

we’re made of.

I blink~

world blinks back.

Every step rehearsed,

gravity forgets my name.

~Jessi