Time consuming

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.
1, 2, 3, 4 to 31.
Squares pressed against squares, black numbers like needles in paper.
Holidays in red, glaring — but no brighter than the rest — just another item on the list.
No space between the lines. No gaps. No breath.

Time slots from 08:00 to 08:45, from 09:00 to 10:30, from 11:00 to 12:15.
Every square crammed full. Appointments, meetings, calls, reminders.
To do. To do. To do.
No blank spots, no cracks in the structure, no air.

Time rushes while I stand still.
Minutes drip, hot, onto my skin — melting away before I can hold them.
My heart pounds between two entries, somewhere between "Project Meeting" and "Groceries".
Every breath catches, chest tight, as if someone wrapped the week around my ribcage — tighter, tighter.

My mind an archive. Everything stored, everything sorted.
And yet: No appointment for me. No appointment to breathe.
I scroll through the days, the weeks, the month.
Nothing. No window. No gap.
Only time consuming me — neatly filed, perfectly organized.