Basement Thoughts

She came and went.

as if it were easy

for all of us

to stand back and 

watch. 

Faster, slower, stop.

the water continued

dripping

collecting

cascading towards

the only thing keeping me from

completely shattering

into a thousand incomplete shards.

Ten beads left on the rosary

nine razor bites on my wrist

eight hours left to go

before seven hours

of quiet, defeaining noise.

Six times two, 

I don't know if 

those months will keep me

from fading away

gradually, and then

suddenly, like a flame

in their dreams. 

The last thread 

I have with the universe

is peacefully sleeping

a floor above me.

The bed is cold,

the window is warm

yet all I can feel

is the numbness

from the inside creeping out.

This poem is about: 
Me

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