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May 2016
My phone dings with familiarity of notification
I fail to reach
Failing to  identify the messenger
Thoughts all point to one thing
My chest constricts with fear as a sharp inhale shakes my body
It could be you
This knowledge, this esoteric ideology about who you really are, limits my tounge.
I can't speak
I can't explain you to anyone because the classic Marvel villian is much too kind.
Realization dawns on my face
I then exhale- slowly, taking comfort in the truth that eases my fragile heart: death prevents all forms of communication-especially druken texts after midnight.
We are drunk in our fears
We are high in our passions

We still-cangetbacktogetherright?
You are my best poetry
Written in longhand
Spoken all in one breathe
But death
And leaving voicemails
And coming to my house
And calling my mother
And harrassing my sister
And-well, moving on is hard when you, still want to move in.
Special thanks to Joshua Trevino
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