it’s vivid,
a family
kneeling around
their dead
dog,
crying,
wishing it
wasn’t
so hard
i’ve had
5 beers
and
about
a bottle of rum
all
in his
honor,
and all i can say
is that
it’ll never
be as easy
as we want it to
be,
and
sometimes
it hurts,
sometimes
it’s fucking
unbearable,
but these
cigarettes
seem to help,
and
i can’t put
my faith in
anything else
except for that
breeze that
brushes my face
at 2 am,
telling me to
keep my noise
pointed toward
the horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem