after the last door closes

solitude becomes a habit. then a home. then a coffin. love will rot in my hands if i touch it too long.

some days i feel like i'm unraveling into something monstrous. like if i keep staring, something inside me will snap and never return.

i want to go home, but i don't know where that is. maybe it was never a place. maybe it was a person.

maybe they're dead now too.