Vox Meditantis

Do you need a break? they ask, and I say yes –
from spreadsheets stacked like coffin walls around me,
from emails breeding in the dark, a mess
of obligations multiplied, they hound me.
From what? they press. From tasks that never end,
from clocks that tick inside my grinding teeth,
from lists I write and cross out and extend,
from shallow breaths that barely breathe beneath

the weight of all this work I use to hide
from phone calls I won’t make, from forms unsigned,
from promises I tucked away inside
some drawer I’ll never open. I’ve designed
this prison out of diligence and sweat –
each finished task another bar to place
between myself and every unpaid debt,
between the mirror and my hollow face.

From what? From working harder every day
to drown the voice that knows what I’ve ignored:
the mother I don’t visit, bills I’ll pay
tomorrow, friendships filed and left unstored.
I need a break from breaking under all
this effort spent on anything that isn’t
what matters. But I’m trapped within the wall
I’ve built from busyness – my own small prison.

From what? From me. From running. From the sound
of silence where my conscience used to be.

Bob Lynn | © 2026 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved.