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what does it taste like to die
does your mouth go dry in the absence of breath
or does it fill up with secrets and bile and everything else that they taught you to swallow
dear kendra
i painted you a eulogy
out of blood and peanut butter and all your other favorite things
tell me, how does it feel to be neck deep in shit or does it not
feel at all
can you hide your whisper in the wind
and admit to me what you forgot first
was it my name or your order at the diner
or the rhythm you tap at the bus stop or michael jackson
dear kendra
the cicadas still scream to you in the night
while idiots like me and mom sit on the curb and scream inside ourselves
which comes out as hello, good morning, pick up milk from the store
dear kendra
i remember the reaper flashing red, blue, red, blue
i keep the terror safe behind my eyelids
the sardony of an apology painted carefully in red, blue, red, blue
like a fuck you flying half mast
i surrounded myself with flowers meant for your grave,
because the living die more than the dead
Alina Sarmiento