And so I slouch.
To keep my heart from bursting and flying in all directions.
Because, fuck, it hurts.
So my ribs contain it.
Steady its beat.
Weigh it down.
So it doesn't fall apart, but beats on.
Steady on. Steady on.
Standing up straight.
It feels too light.
Too exposed.
Too fragile.
To easily pierced by that which lies outside and presses down.
Too easily squashed. Or shattered.
And so I slouch.