Between the first and seventh passing of eighteen
pain unexpectedly slipped inside
and ran face-to-face with unforgiving innocence.
Calm waters are churning…
six feet is no longer deep enough to bury the dead.
Crash into my shore…
I find joy in saying that things can change
when in reality they have no desire.
Take another sip of vodka,
kiss the night…
God bless the gun…
Someone will tell you far too late that
contentment can be found in the return of many promises…
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