death is not the end

of course, how can it be?

when there’s a

considerable amount

of weeping

after

passing. a silent thunder inside a trembling heart, dream like questions

going back in time where it all began, a couple of regrets

waltzing over a sullen tune;

and then there’s the money

or the lack of it, freeloaders, neighbors healthy dose

of yin yang stories, tradition as a bitch, medicated grief, sex

masquerading as love under pressure, long nights

dreaming in shadows,

voices, verses deranged

and finally,

a leg up

for big old hope.

always someone mentions God

was somewhere

on this pictures,

a failed

fucking reminder

since

day one.

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