Ethel Cain letter 3, 020625
Letter 020625
Dear Ethel Cain
Hell doesn’t have a language but everyone goes there to talk. Your ears are ears to my ears. I continue to want to die less than my children want to be killed. Yesterday was yesterday. I could afford a room in the aforedoom. The future is a rumor started twice by a violence we remember being able to stop. The poor play shape, touch, reentry. Find four hands.
kingsoftrain 
Leave a comment