Pain has never been so brilliant
I made sure you were buckled in
i asked her of beauty, and why it burnt like cyanide in tendons;
and she opened her mouth
and
it spilled from her
i don't know, sweetheart.
i don't think i ever will.
but that's the reason why wars are fought, why music is made, why we write.
because we want to keep it, somehow.
it is
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