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I’m dead with dying
There is an eye I refuse to catch

I was born with knowing
I look and I listen and I discern
I know

You’ve caught my eye
I’m not God
But I know

Tell me everything
The bile and the filth and the worst, pour it
All that will be left will be left behind
Listen to my knowing

Let me catch your eye
My knowing is a reflection
There’s no dream I can’t decipher
I simply know
You tell me what’s the matter
And that’s what’s the matter
A reflection
through kinder eyes than you can’t bear to see
This is my knowing

I was born in January
I am dead with dying
There’s an eye I refuse to catch

It’s the eye of a child
Who won’t let me see
Something terrible happened
Something awful and humiliating
Something that drained my blood from my face my screams from my throat my heart from my chest and
Something that puddled my potty down my leg and between my toes
Something terrible
And I don’t know
Something terrible
And I don’t know

Hollow now
I won’t catch my blue eye that eyes me in the mirror

I was a child born dead with knowing
It was January
It was cold something terrible
Something terrible
And I don’t know

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there are no promises that can be kept
by gift we live by right we die
grace is optional
except when it’s not

the grace to bear grief
is sometimes always never
the only prayer there is

in these hot, breathless last days, it’d do us to get on with the praying
sooner than later

Not my dearest just yet.

A raccoon man, much older than he looks.

patrickshead, which is bald.

a casanova, a hotteach, a sexy4u or some such.

some other man, who caught me looking.

 

A boy younger with a cute smile.

A boy older with an edge and an attitude.

A boy with a nice body.

 

Now is the perfect time.

Now is perfection.

 

This whole time

I thought it would be witty

and now I realize it’s just sad.

 

And when they leave me cold

then

they will be truly dear.

 

 

…and really

it’s about wanting to know what I can’t

even still

do you remember has replaced why

at least sometimes

you won’t know the significance of this day

you never knew the significance of me

but I hope

you reflect for a brief moment on the last year of your life

think of me

and feel a tiny flutter somewhere deep inside

For her to feel

our family are vandals

carving indifference into her heart

Not here

 

She doesn’t use these exact words

Where are they?

The answer is exacting

hissing in the air around and between us

burning into the walls and branding our skin

every inch

words smoking

notherenotherenotherenotherenotherenotherenothere

SOB with me

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