the end

sleeping on the floor. sewn together in careless stitches. stabbed by the thread. little blizzards in tiny pants. ring the bell.

we said. some times. and never. we said nothing so many times i understood.

walls like skyscrapers. as tall as alone is when i'm not. the paper a razor at my wrists. the pen. making sense of the blood. the rainbow of dying fraught with so many colors i never knew where there. the thoughts. the droppings of rats. a map to where it doesn't matter. and never has.

flat pajamas laid out on a missing bed. the last words of a book leaving me with nothing to do except wish that I had read slower.

or had stopped before I reached the end.