and this isn’t the news of yr
mother’s death, but
maybe just an early rumor
last days of winter or the
first of spring,
frozen clouds in a blue sky, the
inevitability of another new war
in another doomed country
couldn’t feel my hands as i
reached into the river, but
i knew they were there
knew the children would be
crying when i found them, knew
they’d want reassuring lies, and
if i stared hard enough at the sun
i could almost make myself
believe in a better future
if i sat perfectly still in my
father’s house, i could still hear
him tell me what a
disappointment i was
can feel what little warmth is
left in this day fade with
the light
will laugh at the thought of
outliving every motherfucker
who ever tried to fill my
heart with fear
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