Hollow point.

I will repeat it again and again.
For thirty-two, then thirty-three
time stopped. But, when does it end?
With empty rooms and unfilled beds,
and desperation; the last moments
and too many words left unsaid.



I am copying each name with bold black ink onto plain white card, filling the empty space with the only tangible evidence I have. One at a time I place a card face down before me while I consider each as if it were my own. Then, on the back of each card I write my name.
I can, but they cannot.

So, I will.