Soul Suction

Some shadows gain weight
fed by regrets, unanswered questions,
and the debris of moments that never settled.

It snacks on tiny things that don't matter
a doubt left on the counter,
a feeling pushed aside,
on thin shavings of worry
it treats like scrap -sized calorie.

Then it forages like a camel all day,
a bite of hesitation,
a mouthful of silence,
regurgitating slowly through the thoughts
you pretended were compost.

You try to tie your shoelaces
and shadow’s belly gets there first,
full of everything you never dealt with.

Suddenly the outfits of society
feel two sizes too small.
In that moment of suffocation
you picture a ceremonial soul suction,
a dark wish to siphon away the parts
that no longer pass inspection.

Had the tongue burned a few truths,
the shadow wouldn’t have bulked
enough to buckle the body.