I really don't give a fuck. I'm fed up, spat out, and expired. Why does anybody bother? Can't we all just have a mass suicide?
I really need to stop reading political commentary.
"How's your son?" The only one I know anything about is the one who came to see her at work one night.
"They're all fine," she says. Such a good person.
"Is he back yet?"
"You mean from Iraq. Yeah, he's home."
"For good?"
"Nah. For a month. He wants to join the Special Forces." I let escape a defeated sigh. "It doesn't end," she says, referring to the burden.
"That's the whole problem," I say, referring to something else. "It does end."
Tell me a story and make it quick. I cannot hang on much longer. Tell me a story to lift me away, to make wings of my leaden limbs, and to make, of my stinging tears, a single trembling summer star. Oh give me, please, a sentinel of love; a guide for this poor heart to find its home, a light to lead the lover out of hate and call the tender out from hiding behind the rocks and thorns. Under such a star—on a beach, perhaps, or even just outside a rowdy bar—lightly touch my lips again, as you once did, with a given kiss, not stolen, and this time I will not run away. Let me finally see the joy for which I came so far.
I know it is here, somewhere. I know...
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