they make themselves die.
It's when the truth
whips through their
bodies
that someone is never coming back
the war will never end
and the money ran out
and they are sleepless
and the man loves someone else
and they failed to castle when they
could have,
and they believed that story
and will be full of promise not
again and
there's nowhere to send
their hope.
It is when the truth,
like biting into
milkweed,
cuts off the taste
of sweetness.
There is a sharp indrawn
breath
when they must decide
to exhale
now or never.
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