Fighting for sweet release in fingers too clumsy to hold on, the sand is gone.
I will be attending another funeral tomorrow.
(That is number 10 this school year...it has to be a record.)
Violent, sick with self loathing death blinds us and whispers evil.
We don't belong, they will be better without us.
Lies and untruths.
After the casseroles are gone
the visitors have returned home is when they will learn to live without you.