light

Today, I came the closest to shutting the blinds.

The lights had grown far too bright.

I used to be better at squinting—

training my eyes so the sun never overtook the room.

I wore it like a badge of honor:

how long I could last

with my eyes burning,

my body sagging under the weight of sleeplessness.

Hours.

Days.

Years.

I told myself it was the price of admission—

my deal with the devil.

If I wanted to keep my place in the pyramid this week,

I had to keep the machine running.

The machine never sleeps.

If it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else.

And when their light dims,

they’ll just find the next one.

No one speaks up.

It’s how the cycle persists.

They find the ones they can push to always do the most,

yet never let them feel certain where they stand.

They only praise those who maintain the image they want—

but the praise is built on our backs.

I am never acknowledged.

I could be replaced in a second.

Just like she was.

Then they’ll huddle among themselves,

complaining.

As if they hadn’t squeezed out every last drop.

The effort never matters once they discard you.

They make you the villain.

maybe the end will bring me the tranquility I’ve been seeking

time will only tell