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October 21, 2022 / barton smock

( void doc )

Being a parent is terrifying. Always that hearing, plain and songless, some version of 

There were times I could've made your life easier, but didn't.

I didn't have money. Someone was sick. I saw the least of those my age travel as the same fuck every time. I didn't want to. I loved you because I loved you too much. Angelic laziness. The blank immediacy of everything fathered. Touch died in my hands.

I was a better person when I didn't try to get sleep. It might be true. Here is where I pretend to believe in god because I'm older, have pain that moves before I get there, and can't swallow at night.

Here is where I say if your child's illness makes them rare

Be terrified and sing near the ghost your terror prays to. Our sleep is lost to a finished nowhere. 

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