Curtain Call

Nineteen years
 Just old enough to think you've seen it all
 This stop sign's an undramatic curtain call
 A collection of all my fears
 Collecting thoughts
 I caught my breath
 in a newer knapsack to salvage what was left of you
 I packed my things and carried them home
 and then I carried you home
 Safety surrounds me
 in late light security
 A vision quest on city streets
 obscuring where the city sleeps all night.
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 The headlights don't work this time
 The headlight are held on the turn signal's swan song.
 I sold your things to call up a cab
 and you picked up the tab
 300 bucks
 your body's on the trunk
 Engine is locked
 the rope is in the trunk
 I counted backwards
 I counted hours
 I counted ways to pick your frame apart