Here is the end of all of this:
    most of us, one day,
    will lie in a room where the shadows grow,
    with memories crowded out by pain,
    knowing, only then,
    why we lit so many fires…
Just to keep these very shadows at bay.

Days we spend as interlocking cubes,
    silver and shiny, neat and trim,
    lost in the patterns of our illusions,
    pushing chaos beneath the surface;
    but look — down a hall you’ve already walked,
    there’s a bed and pillow you’re going to use…
And you’ll be joined to all the people who used it before