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she said

she was ready to make favor

with her

nickel-plated savior:

oh, he would whisk her away

out of bounds,

out of the contextual bullshit

and onto new grounds...



and who wouldn't fathom

such an answer

to a cancerous realm,

where Death is sold at a discount

on every corner?



she was no different,

and soon enough...



there she was:

heart palpitating

fading breath and resolve.

I could have saved her



          but no...



the suicide was imminent

as her tender hand slipped

                                             away

from what would become

our final memory:

          a synonym now

          for yesterday.



I fell,

back against the wall

and gasped,

while trying to understand

     "it's not a dream...

      it's not a dream..."





but to this day,

I stumble,

dissociated with

a gap of reality

I would rather sew shut.

It's almost like

I never met her

and it's better



       that way...



                            I think...