Not With a Bang

Sing me the story 
where everyone dies
and the author
is honest
about us.

She writes our confusions large
our trembling small.

We did not understand
were not scared enough
of ignorance to save ourselves.

Whisper me a denouement
a held breath
because no one will hear it
and nothing remains to be said.

Make me weak
in the knees
for a world that whimpers
all out of punctuation
all threads cut
the inkwell dry as our tongues.

When the words
crawl up to the edge of
the page
she gets another chance
to say 
something true 
about herself.