from bed, sneezing

celebrated your seventh birthday today without any presents we sat idly by while wishing the well wouldn’t have come up dry i think about you often sitting in that rocking chair withering, carrots dripping off your chin and where do i begin to live again and there was no misunderstanding in the words you said that microphone bled we were left with no choice but  to burn it in effigy after you strutted to your grieving room where everyone applauded the anchor you attached to another apathetic generation left buying your styles with wide tails and shrunken noses please let me just love again as easy when my sister was begging for that piece of the pie and tin is malleable there are bishops with salvageable sails setting out to have that sinister stance on decades of ten by ten rooms marked with teenagers names it’s all the way we cast that bait, let it sit, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, i’m feeling guilt for forgetting your sixth. 

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