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I need to stay away from scissors. Been meaning to cut the dreadful thoughts growing out of my head. Been branching out since three years ago. Been mourning since three years ago.  What do widows say to their daughter’s when there is no light in the room. The darkness clings on to the space between her teeth. It forces itself inside her pores. Her silhouette turns into the sky, clouds in grievance. The rain pours down like her tears when when they said Amen. Like my locks did when I woke up from the dream. I’ve been meaning to tell her I miss him. Been seeing him in the water. Been wishing I could freeze the image into ice. The image of dreaded things hanging from the  head. The feeling if trying to keep a dead thing alive. The image of father as child.

Stil.Father’s child.

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