I thought of the end and / I met it for what it was.
Her snail’s pace is patience, thrumming through the rooms where I try to exist.
inches from the nowhere drain
hound the ones with rounded edges
it took a year for it / to die, shelled and / alone in a far corner of / the unkempt living room.
descend and dissolve
like placing paper / to the flame.
the days are a game / of catch and release.
Sometimes it all feels like swallowing glass; you reach for a solution but it's like trying to catch smoke in your hand.
Coping mechanisms are great - they're important - but the occasional self pity session can bring some relief, too.