eight minutes

before my life collapses.

seven minutes

before my chest acts as if it's been impaled by a monster; which it will be.

six minutes

until the scars all fall into waves inside of me.

five

until he disappears just before I reach him,

four

before the tears collide with anxiety,

three

before my knees give out and my head twirls,

two

before each week will be centuries,

one

before prophecies long foretold scream inside my mind,

zero.

"I love you, will. . ."