Dominated

I am still, but not by choice. There is weight around me—heat, shadow, memory. It leans in without touching, yet I feel it always. Once, I stood taller. Now I fold inwards, preserving what little of myself remains untouched. The colours that wrap me—rust, blood, smoke—were not always mine. They bled into me slowly, imperceptibly. I cannot tell where I end and he begins. But I feel him—above, around, inside—pressing in with a guilt he will not name. He does not scream. He does not strike. He surrounds. And in this stillness, I am held… but not safe.