Still

She was told to sit by the window
Hands on her lap, back straight, eyes low
Said the storm would pass if she stayed
But the ceiling cracked, and no one came

They marked her name in pencil grey
Erased it softly, day by day
Fed her silence spoon by spoon
Tucked her in and locked the room

No one heard her knocking bones
No one claimed her afterglow
She was still, and still she bled
From the corners of the bed
She was still - that made it clean
So they washed what they had seen

She learned to breathe without a sound
Felt the mold rise from the ground
Each breath a risk, each word a crack
So she folded in and never asked

A hand too warm
A voice too light
A sheet too white
A door shut tight
A clock unwound
A line she missed
A bruise that fades
But still exists

No one heard her knocking bones
No one claimed her afterglow
She was still, and still she bled
From the corners of the bed
She was still - that made it clean
So they washed what they had seen

Still
As stone
Still
As sleep
Still
Too long
Still
Too deep