Cornerless

You taught me how to stand still
in a room that kept expanding.
Every wall bent away from me
like it had somewhere more important to be.
I counted the cracks in the paint
until they spelled a language
that didn’t forgive vowels.
I think you understood it—
you just pretended not to.


I keep finding your fingerprints
on things I haven’t touched yet.
The air folds around them
like it’s afraid to forget.
I try to rebuild the silence we broke,
but it keeps coming back sharper,
and I can’t hold it without bleeding.


I dreamt you as a hallway
that never ended the same way twice.
Some nights, the exit was a mirror.
Some nights, it was the sound of my name
leaving someone else’s mouth.
I wrote down the pattern,
but the paper dissolved when I woke,
like even the memory refused to be kept.


I keep finding your fingerprints
on things I haven’t touched yet.
The air folds around them
like it’s afraid to forget.
I try to rebuild the silence we broke,
but it keeps coming back sharper,
and I can’t hold it without bleeding.


You once told me
that nothing disappears,
it just changes its address.
If that’s true,
then you’re still here,
rent-free in the architecture
of everything I can’t look at for too long.


When the floor caves in,
I’ll call it closure.
When the ceiling falls,
I’ll call it proof.
When I stop hearing you in the echoes,
I’ll wonder if I’ve gone deaf
or if you finally left

edm, experimental, pop, ambient, trap, deep bass