Seventeen, Day

The dead never really leave you
But you can try and give up all those things
The ones that distract you
The ones that keep you from seeing strait
The ones that make it a little less easy
a little less easy to remember.

When you see strait it can be hard not to shake
and twitch
and go cross-eyed
The clarity is deafening
The seeing is blinding
Everything hurts
and there is no relief in sight.

Come let us celebrate
Let us give thanks
Let us worship
The world is a fire
and it burns almost everything.


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