Moving on.

It fell to me
to remember grief
and I've almost
learned to forget.

I will die.

When it comes down to it, I think I'd

most like to die with an audience, so

people could gather and mutter,

and maybe try to save me. Or,

all self-flattery aside, maybe I'll

live on in someone's story as

that girl who just fuck-flat

died.

Isolation mania.

We're only breaking rules now.

It's not like I hadn't heard the lies before -

gone to truth. But maybe the first time I felt

them and realized there were reasons.

Did she dream you, the way she

dreamed she could escape these chains?

I think she might have. Or I think you

may have convinced her she was

dreaming, which is almost the

same. Not nearly as different as

waking.