Fuck Your Sorries and Screw Your Sermons

You’re small in death.

Reduced to this sack of flesh,
bolstered only by the grim mechanics of
belated cosmetic attention.

I hate you. You’re not him.
This is a body dragged out to take his place.
That suit’s brand new, and without the pirate smile all I see is a stranger’s face.

Fuck you, I’m leaving.
He’ll be home when I get there,
Pouring wine on a school night.
That’s where he is.

You can all take your fucking
and screw each other with them.
They’re POISON to me and I want to kill every one of you.

Out, getting out.
Out into the light where I can smell our land.
Land of huge skies and pork pies,
where we love endlessly.

I’m not listening. Shut up.
He’ll be there.
He’s there.
He wouldn’t go on without me.

Am I right? Tell me!

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