Footprints in the Ceiling

I wake with my mouth half open, tasting yesterday’s fear
like pennies on the tongue, and the dark feels newly armed
The house holds its breath at the edges, then exhales a thin wood-creak,
the kind that says a stranger learned your charm
Ceiling plaster looks innocent in daylight,
yet at 2 a.m. it turns to skin, it listens, it remembers, it keeps you warm
A powdery trail appears above my bed, heel
then toe then heel, a slow parade that never trips an alarm
No attic hatch hangs open, no ladder stands accused,
no sensible answer comes to settle what I’ve seen
I count the marks like prayers I don’t believe,
then hate myself for counting, since counting means I think the ceiling’s clean
The prints move wall to wall with measured calm,
like somebody owns the air up there, like somebody signed away my sleep between
[Chorus] Footprints in the ceiling, pale
and stealing, crossing over where I sleep
Footprints in the ceiling, slow revealing, teaching plaster how to creep
Footprints in the ceiling, cold and kneeling, cutting quiet into deep
Footprints in the ceiling, not forgiving, turning breath into a leak
I tape a thin stripe across the door,
and that stripe looks like a border I’m too ashamed to breach
I imagine a boot on joists, a hand on beams, a body low
and careful, listening for my pulse like it’s music they can teach
The ceiling fan hangs dead and still, yet the air moves anyway,
a private draft that stinks of dust and old speech
I hear nothing that counts as footsteps, only a soft drag,
a patient brush, the sound of somebody learning my reach
If I call out, the room will answer with silence,
and silence is the language that makes predators preach
If I stay quiet, I become the witness who signs away his own safety with every cowardly breach
[Chorus] Footprints in the ceiling, pale
and stealing, crossing over where I sleep
Footprints in the ceiling, slow revealing, teaching plaster how to creep
Footprints in the ceiling, cold and kneeling, cutting quiet into deep
Footprints in the ceiling, not forgiving, turning breath into a leak
Morning will show the marks as simple dust,
the kind you blame on pipes, or rats, or old plumbing that weeps
But 2 a.m. is a courtroom with no judge, no mercy, no recess,
just evidence that someone’s overhead while you try to sleep
I build a theory out of fear, it goes like this: the house has tenants I can’t see,
they walk in patient loops, they live in deep
They never knock because the ceiling is their floor,
and my life below is noise they’ve grown to find too cheap
The neighbors think I’m spiraling,
and maybe spiraling is just the word for noticing what everybody else ignores while they sleep
This house stacks paychecks like excuses,
stacks lies like insulation, stacks quiet like sleep
This ceiling is my small republic, and those prints are a hostile flag,
and my silence is a failure I can’t bleach
I rise anyway, feet on cold boards, and the cold tells the truth fast,
it says you don’t get safety for being meek
I grip a flashlight like a thin promise, not hero talk,
just a tool in my fist, and my breath turns sharp and deep
The attic hatch stares down from the hall like a closed eye,
and my hand hovers near the cord, wanting proof, wanting peace, wanting sleep
[Chorus] Footprints in the ceiling, pale
and stealing, crossing over where I sleep
Footprints in the ceiling, slow revealing, teaching plaster how to creep
Footprints in the ceiling, cold and kneeling, cutting quiet into deep
Footprints in the ceiling, not forgiving, turning breath into a leak
I pull the cord, the hatch drops open, and dust falls
like a bad blessing, and the air up there tastes old and cheap
Insulation lies in torn pink rows like skin pulled back,
and the flashlight finds a dark that doesn’t want to be swept
No face appears to greet me, no body leaps out screaming,
no movie moment, only the proof that something moved while I tried to sleep
A trail runs straight above my rooms, above my dreams,
above my mouth, and the trail keeps going, calm, complete
I climb one rung, then stop, since courage isn’t constant,
it comes in pulses, it comes in debts, it comes in deep
I know the marks will vanish with a rag, yet the knowledge won’t,
the knowledge sticks, the knowledge stains, the knowledge keeps
Someone walked above my life as if my life were storage,
and that insult is the terror I can’t sweep