here, history comes to an end

like a movie

with rolling credits of headstones,

nobody lives forever, but

your spine prickles and

it still doesn't seem real.

it really makes you feel insignificant.

don't feel like talking? fine.

but you really don't get it.

leave me, I want to be alone.

she had a week left in solitude in her hamster apartment,

debris in a muddy water of the brain.

you made a pretty good mess of your life so far,

the wanderer on a ghost ship, savior with no name,

like a movie

with nameless credits of mass graves.

I stretch my fingers into those of a witch.

you have been warned.