Writing novels of what is to come, light another candle at the funeral home. Getting older we see all the darkness come to life, all the faces from childhood are washed away. Reading obituaries, riding my bike past the cemetery.
There's less of us here than before
And I remember wishing you all were dead, but now I look back and lower my voice. DUI's and caring eyes, of those just trying to fight the tears. Societal pressures becoming too much to bear.
We try to poison our roots, and rip them from the ground.
Our parent's hopes are behind bars in the county jail. Our parent's blood has left our bodies so fucking dry.