Somewhere along the line, I start pacing back and forth.
I don’t know how badly I’m weakening the floorboards.
The only thing getting stronger is the rust on the windowsills.
Everything feels fine.

I start beating the floor.
The wood is creaking.
Something feels wrong, but it will be over soon.
It always is.

The floor breaks under the weight of my fists
and the floor below that breaks under the weight of the rubble
and my falling body.
I start beating the floor because it’s all my fists know how to do.
The floorboards are creaking.
I don’t know how many floors I can fall through before there’s nothing left to catch me.
The floorboards are creaking and
Everything is wrong.

I’m nailing shut the holes I broke in the floor.
I don’t know if I’m making it stronger
or filling it with more holes.
I’m prying rust off the windowsill but the windows stay closed.
Everything feels fine.
Like it felt when I was wearing the floor out beneath my feet.
Everything feels fine.
Like when the floor’s support began to falter under my weight.
Everything feels fine,

but I wish I could take a breath of fresh air.