I am the way the story ends.

I am the blackness before dawn and the midnight rage of sleepless dreamers. I am the bleeding soul and the homeless god and the condemning of an angel. I am a virtuous sinner, a story without words, the blood on the pavement, the razor blade in the bathtub, hatred without reason and love with logic; I am. I am the words of a poem they forgot to write and the ink of a run-dry pen and the apologies that never made it out.

I am the way the story ends.