"Caroline" is written big on the front page. I look through the pages and there's a new poem on every page. About half way through the book the poems stop. But the pages aren't empty. They have turned into red splatters, they almost look like. . . blood. I continue turning the pages, yet the splatters won't end. I finally reached the last page, but it isn't just a splatter of blood, or just a poem. It looks like the final stanza of a poem. But splatters of blood surround it now.

"Tonight I lie here

In my bed

Tomorrow, no more

because i'll be dead."