Oh my friend, there are no friends.
The mouth avers intention
Like nothing else. So what if this voice
Makes me cry every time like a little girl,
A little girl buried. Beneath my skin,
A little girl buried grief like a line no
Forgetting re-members.
Sweet friend, i have no voice with you.
No self where a self is intended, still
I have nothing to for-give. You
Refuse my needs like a stranger. Reason
Is not a pretense between us.
The future is the cat under the house,
Drowning. Fear talking.
The future is the only thing it cannot be:
Itself. I tell myself it must be this way
So’s better to bare it with. I will not bear
Your death. I have made that decision.
And you need not know.





Enough with this death already! I have something to
Live, something to give, and the dead do not accept gifts,
Do they? Who says? Who decides?
If it’s me, I cannot say. If it’s Kant, then fuck philosophy.
A dead man’s weight, of echoing questions.