It’s Pretty Obvious I Am Crumbling

I’m not hiding it well.
The cracks are canyon-deep.
The smile barely fastened.
The silence too loud.

It’s pretty obvious I am crumbling.
You can hear it
in the way my laugh doesn’t quite reach the end.
See it
in the way my shoulders curl like apology.
Feel it
in the heaviness that hangs between
“I’m fine”
and the truth I never speak.

There are signs everywhere.
The slow fade of text replies.
The blank stare at boiling water.
The forgotten laundry,
the burned toast,
the shaking hands
that still write the grocery list
because someone has to.

I’m still showing up,
but I’m not really here.
I’m a ghost
in a house of obligations.
I’m mascara on a tear-streaked cheek.
I’m the polite nod
in a room I want to scream in.

And still—
they don’t ask.
Or maybe they do,
but they don’t really want the answer.
So I keep nodding.
Keep pouring.
Keep smiling
as I turn to dust.

I am holding too much
with too few hands.
And I am tired
in a way that no amount of sleep
will ever fix.

It’s pretty obvious I am crumbling.
But maybe it has to be catastrophic
before anyone calls it collapse.

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