Have we come to the end of a novel, or chapter?
Why don't I feel accomplished?
And how can I be sure?
I feel like irony, death, maybe murder
I am an uneven sentence in a completely
composed song.

I want you
and without definition
I lay written and unfinishe-
You are a run-on sentence
complete with comparisons and appositives

Constantly finding yourself
in my head

& pages
But how many do I have left?