what was that? no, no you're right.
 i shouldn't be walking down the hall
 this late. if at all possible, you might not
 mention this to mom and dad.
 it's just i saw a shadow on the wall
 and i followed it to the bathroom sink
 where i skinned the knees,
 see how they hurt, they hurt, they hurt,
 when i saw the insides.
 you might not think that they've rotted.
 that's because you can't feel them
 whirring.
 whirring with what i should have not
 but did.
 the hurt in your eyes say more,
 as you
 are so still.
 you must.
 "if i could change," i began.
 you hushed me then and you said,
 "i might forgive you."
 and you said to go to bed then
 and you said to let the shadows go.
 one by one you turned off the lights.
 we trickled to bed out of sieves,
 rubbing our tired knees
 like it mattered anymore.
 "if i could change," i maintained,
 "would it matter?"
 you said no.
 we went to bed for real then,
 real sleep,
 real progress.
 i still don't know how to change
 or if it matters.