one hundred handwritten words on electronic paper
a mark at the crease of your walls
the hum of a radio beyond the glass
a promise, held dear for all the wrong reasons

you tell yourself that you will not be scared when you die
in the same tone you use to imagine that
there's always been an immeasurable distance
between us

is it really such a shame to live your whole life in a room?
it's comfortable,
even if the air gets stale
and there's flowers just outside
beyond the glass.
is it okay for you to watch them?
even though you sit inside your room,
an immeasurable distance away,
as they wilt.
would it be more humane to look away?

it's funny, because
the flower dies first,
but you rot twice as fast
so when you inevitably find that you're terrified to die,
you pointlessly ask:

was it really such a shame to live this whole life in a room?
was there ever really any distance at all, between us?
and
was it cruel to you when i looked away?