Not An Attempt

Every other time I have managed
to survive. You ask: why not this time? 

I think I was just too tired
to keep on. Weary of the ride;

though I put up a small fight
it was mostly for show. I knew

what was likely to happen. I knew
I’d likely fall down and not get up again

of my own accord. I guess
it’s clear to me now that this time

I was not in fact prepared,
but was ready. All the wrong stars

were in the right house. I had not tied
a neat bow around anything left behind

but the package was sealed and awaited
delivery. Look at it now, sprawled

on the kitchen floor. I’m just above it
looking at it just as you do — although

my shrug at it being there is nothing
like your reaction to it. I’m already turning away.