I image being filthy in the deceit of debt, sometimes I too want to die but there’s a daughter who will awaken & say dad & if that space goes blank then the emptiness fills in & the terror starts to taunt a torture worse than my sadness
a finite torture worse than my depression I imagine myself at a lake pulling jagged rocks from tattered denim pockets & although they won’t skip I wrist the motion, the aggressive thrust + belief in magic—a half-ass attempt
the aggressive thrust + belief in magic—a half-ass attempt to meet time in the eye un-idle hands until another day is done & daughter draws the shape of a tired sun so that means I must arise again & attend to the difficult work of staying alive
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