by month's end

the dark patchwork quilts that are our lives as we breathe in the putrid breath of the routine of the everyday. the faded photograph of our ideals as our neurons diminish. as candles exponentiate.

the leaky faucet of our brain tick-tick-ticking until it sounds. the whispers of dead artists coursing through the the grey copper. the agonizing din of the wet showers of our hopes. the slapping.

the confetti of dust slashing at our eyes. the cold hand and the lighter pocket. stepping down. the mastery of goodbyes and deceit.
coughing red. red and gold and golden.

the shaky arm and the red circles. the closing of one eye.
closing.
closing in.

the deep breath before the pulling of the trigger.
centered.

everything makes sense.

applaud, everyone, the comedy shall soon be over.