You can't help me!

You can't help me!

The architecture of my days begins to fray,
Not with a crash, or a sudden, jagged break,
But in the quiet tolling of the gray,
And all the small foundations that I shake.

I am an edifice of dust and light,
Unspooling like a ribbon in the air,
Drifting through the reach of heavy night,
With no ground waiting for the souls who tear.

The seconds stretch like taffy, thin and slow,
Each movement is a ghost of what I was;
I watch the parts of me begin to go,
Unraveling by some forgotten cause.

My edges dull; the mortar turns to sand,
I lose the map of who I meant to be,
Slipping through the fingers of my hand,
A lingering, long-drawn-out catastrophe.

No thunderclap, no sharp and final sound,
Just gravity, reclaiming what it lent,
While I, in velvet silence, touch the ground,
A slow, deliberate, and vast descent.