Unlucky To Know

sordid last thoughts

More piles,
more words,
more thoughts,
and then-
and then you die.
Shouldn't there be more?
I wonder sometimes if...
if someone is listening.
Ear pressed to the door
waiting for the sound of
shattered glass.
I clutch my cross as
a shadow slides a note
under the crack of my front door.
More time,
more thoughts,
more, more, more...
Why has no one ever loved me?