Everyone forgets your birthday.
The next day they say “Happy belated.”
Which is well and fine because truth is what you make it.
Coralie, the paintings came back in my sleep.
The Smoke and the Wine…
I thought I’d left that all behind..
And you’re always in a dark place….
“Is she sick in her thoughts?” I wondered out loud into an empty space.
Coralie’s trapped in the living room strangled by a book.
A little girl bound by Mormonism.
That religion keeps her shook.
Coralie’s afraid of her body and the way it haunts me.
Her sisters neck left swaying in the wrong tree.
When we can’t tie a knot, we tie a lot.
Enough to make my noose incase you forgot.
Coralie, it’s my last little bit.
My drunken rage of loneliness buried deep in shit.
Your dogs lie, cumbersome, a mood that cannot bend.
Your rosy cheeks palette politely in the wind.
Before and after & the beginning and the end.
(For: Agirlinutah)
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