euphoric and proud, we danced like the children we were supposed to be,
brushing pencil shavings off our desks like our mothers did to our hair.
forming daisy chains like dignified humans.
The Sun beams on our faces as if it was designed to highlight our youth.

A punch in the gut, a knife drawn to the heart,
the inability to entangle a simple breath.
You lift the crease of your face up to seem gracious.
You lift your chest up to see if it will split, like the carcass of a rabbit that didn't quite decay underneath all that snow.
Your pulse softens like the tiny pieces of eraser entangled with faded words.
Your chest takes longer to inhale and only you and everyone else around you knows whats coming.

Cracked lips was the worst that we ever suffered.

Your breath is still warm and it still comforts the animals that surround your mouth

Lucy is talking about how her father fed her pigs and then slaughtered them. I think to myself, this is strange behavior.

*I know that your calloused fingertips caught on the cotton of her sleeves when you finally reached caducity. They told be that it was slow and pain free, and usually the mouth will taste of salt. That day was when the alloy of the sky grew to meet with the clouds, where salt loved to hide away. Your soon-to-be corpse was finally concluded, and I forgot to say goodbye.