as we drive into the cancer

the sun is smooth and white

inviting me to stare at it

i try not to:

i've still got a bright yellow halo

burnt into my retinas from

when i was six or seven, so

i'm never completely in the dark

the highway is casting shadows upon itself

there's a stink of warmth

we almost die a few times, and almost

live a few

and we try hard to live this life where

there's only death

and songs

there's some small creature inside of us that longs and longs

to breath, to leave, to get away from this dumb gravity

to float at least, remember what it was like to live in the sea

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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