Clinical Clarity

Saturday morning estate sale signs Handwritten arrows crooked like spines A whole life staged on folding tables Years collapsed into what’s still portable Manuals stacked for machines long gone Warranty slips outliving the jobs Half built shelves extra screws Projects paused like a Sentence cut mid use Paperback novels cracked once then shelved Notes in the margins talking to self Every later penciled in light Like time was a boomerang Meant to come right Garage smells like oil and delay Tools bought for a different day Not broken plans just ones that waited Till waiting quietly became dated Chairs worn into the shape of backs Comfort leaves dents you don’t notice fast Nothing tragic nothing loud Just momentum thinning out I held a watch face scratched thin Second hand pacing in place Perfect rhythm nowhere to go Effort circling without motion I’m not scared of dirt Or names on stone That ending’s clear that part’s known I’m scared of the years That idle clean Like a screensaver hiding time unseen Fear ain’t death death’s direct Fear’s a life kept antiseptic Breathing steady pulse behaves Days in storage marked as safe I don’t wanna grow Old just passing time Like a train idling at The end of the line If it ends let It end mid move Not archived not labeled not gently used I don’t wanna grow Old just filling rooms With proof I stayed smooth avoided bruises If I’m Still Here let It show I tried Not that I waited it out inside Same house same driveway same Turn of the wheel Same pause before answers same scripted appeal TV keeps talking so silence won’t speak Furniture mapped to the Paths of their weeks Nothing is wrong that’s the part That alarms Life set gentle no friction no harm Days fit together like standardized parts No sharp decisions no splintered starts Photos smile like they’re Trained for the frame Never explain what it Costs to stay same No visible wreckage no Debt on the skin Just the slow trade Of hunger for discipline I catch my reflection in How they move time Not old just settled Inside of the line Weeks pass clean no resistance no dent Calendar full nothing urgent is meant Not scared of aging I’m Scared of the slide Where fine becomes permanent doubt gets retired Where comfort stops asking what Else I could be And stillness gets credited falsely as peace Everything ends up as counted effects Lives summarized without context What time can’t price Can’t tag can’t shelve Is the push you abandon convincing yourself Estate sale future I see it advance My life shrink wrapped In a storage stance Hard drives boxed with unfinished thoughts Plans archived under too busy slots Time don’t warn it just normalizes Slow erosion framed as compromise Days get clean but the signal drops Motion reduced to maintenance costs Breath stays steady ambition starves Pulse still ticks but it barely argues Heart still works but it stopped demanding Anything risky sharp or unbranded I don’t want calm If it costs me reach Don’t want peace If it dulls my teeth Don’t want safe If it sands me flat Till I fit real nice Where I’m finally packed I want days that resist me back Want friction strain in the mental rack Want nights where sleep Won’t come on cue 'Cause the future still feels unresolved And true Rather choke on pace than suffocate neat Rather limp forward than polish retreat If I’m exhausted at least I moved If I collapse let It be mid pursuit When they inventory what’s left of me Let it read like velocity