the end of the end
what is worse?
realizing that you are at the end
of something you weren’t quite sure
or staring at the phone in the middle
of the night wishing texts read out
like howling, bleeding, screeching
voices popping ear drums and
tripping car alarms down the street.
“I FUCKING HATE YOU”
those are words you never want to
hash out or give back yet here
you are, one lonely finger pressing
severing ties you shouldn’t have
made in the first place.
just how insulting could one
piece of pixelated blocks
arranged in the function of human
its enough to declare the end of the end.