It’s over, I remember thinking
My darling Katie’s wrists are worn,
A bone poking from behind the stubborn skin
Tired of writing the words,
A thought down, and she was gone for an hour
Scribbling all kinds of nonsense
I’d never seen her write about her own.
Always a word about will,
A word about a thought she swore
To slit her throat before spelling aloud,
A word in the morning about
a dream sh...
