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I am screaming from beneath all of the
roach clips you left between the cushions
the broken and stale beer bottles mounted in the bruises and cuts
of mothers body

I am crying
beneath
dust stained
framed pictures
of everything you were
and everything you left
beneath
leaky syringes
blood crusting
needles rusting
from the past

We are dying
without
the smell of your cologne
in the fibers of our clothing
without
watching the hairs on your cheeks and head
the skin on your face and arms
age
We are dying
without a
father
without
a husband
an uncle
a grandfather



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