Couchbound Cadaver

I am a couchbound cadaver
breathing just enough
to keep the rent due

Half-rotten routines
and half-finished flicks
that is my view

Sun burns through the blinds
dust floating like a slow fog
in a room that smells
like old sweat and stale chips

I am fused to this couch
remote welded to my palm
tongue glued to the roof of my mouth
dead words on my lips

Phone buzzes
“you coming?”
“you okay?”
“you alive?”
from people who would not know
what to do with me
if I said yes

I look at the screen
let the notifications fade
into that same gray fog
with all the rest

I used to fight to be seen
now the thought of leaving
this dent in the cushion
feels like a war
I cannot start

Every errand
every shower
every text back
is a boss fight with no loot drop
just another drain
on a cracked heart

I watch my life scroll past
in other people’s photos
while my own reflection looks
like it is pressed against glass
from the wrong side

It would probably take one step
to break that spell
but my legs feel
like they already died

You call it laziness
from your treadmill throne
you have no idea how heavy it is
just to pick up this phone

Dishes crust over in the sink
like fossils
clothes stack up in a corner
like a failed mountain range
of cotton and regret

Every “I will do it later”
stacks into a wall
I cannot see over
but I still keep building it

Because the choice is between
hating myself for not moving
and hating myself while I move
for people who never turn up
when I break

So I pick the silence
that lets my body rest
even if it feels
like a mistake

This is not a cry for help
I would not answer the door
it is a confession
from the floor

That sometimes
the only victory I have left
in this skin
is refusing to run
anymore

If one day the couch is empty
and the imprint fades
from the cushion where I lay

Maybe that means I finally moved
or maybe I just
faded away