The moon is my clock, and when it is full, it will be time to see you again. My head has been full of confusion and the sky of spaceships. The bugs splatter across my windshield like rain and I wish it was my brains on the pavement. The pain in my chest has spread; I can feel it in my thighs, arms, throat. I hope I see you before it reaches my head, or at least before the steel barrel of my gun does. Razors can’t seem to be sharp enough, can’t seem to cut deep enough, I feel like my blood is too hidden to reach. I couldn’t feel it slicing my skin open, but then again, I can’t make it hurt like you can. I’m sure I’ll never be able to feel anything again. I know that even razor wire and cement walls couldn’t keep us apart, so why do I feel so far away?