I can’t finish poems anymore.
I got used to the abandoned,
To the books I ha-lf re-ad,
And to the stories I leave incomplete.

You and I were one such story,
We left fragments in our wake.
The dying r
                     o
                        se
                              s, the bro/ken promises,
And the memories we never made.

I leave things unfinishe-,
I became used to the                      emptiness.
To the hope, the tears
And the escaping years.

That is what you do, after all,
When things end.
You weep, you sleep,
And wait for the day to end.