There’s no room left to think,

I’m spatially constrained

in the most mundane of ways.

I lose my equilibrium,

knocked against the pedestrian buffet

I find myself slipping

inwards, all the time

and such steep slopes to climb,

that my fingers,

worn already to nubs,

are blooded, twisted things,

scraping away my sanity

like mausoleum silt.

My mind wanders

and my thoughts confuse.

I catch myself

at times reflected

and touch my face

to feel how valid the truth might be,

though I fear I am not much better

than the calloused ramblings of an old soul.