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Pulp Poetry

Scraps of fascination are the building blocks of an interesting life.

This nail means you’ve died. That blood disease took you From this Earth From your family From me.The scars on these stones will never heal. But some day With enough wind, And sun, And rain, It will become a foothold for life.A new life. Not yours. You, my beautiful boy, are never coming home again.I don’t drive this nail into rock with anguish My sadness doesn’t plant it here. The memory of you isn’t strong enough. I drive it with a fury And passion At the thought of how many days Lay before us. I would erase those days and join you Now.But I know what you’d say. I know what you’d want. To live my days and find happiness again. And I couldn’t bear to face you not having done that. So you’ll forgive me if Right now I hate you. And use that hate to drive this nail into stone And hopefully, the remove the nails In my heart as well.

This nail means you’ve died.
 That blood disease took you
 From this Earth
 From your family
 From me.

The scars on these stones will never heal.
 But some day
 With enough wind,
 And sun,
 And rain,
 It will become a foothold for life.

A new life.
 Not yours.
 You, my beautiful boy, are never coming home again.

I don’t drive this nail into rock with anguish
 My sadness doesn’t plant it here.
 The memory of you isn’t strong enough.
 I drive it with a fury
 And passion
 At the thought of how many days
 Lay before us.
 I would erase those days and join you
 Now.

But I know what you’d say. I know what you’d want.
 To live my days and find happiness again.
 And I couldn’t bear to face you not having done that.
 So you’ll forgive me if
 Right now
 I hate you.
 And use that hate to drive this nail into stone
 And hopefully, the remove the nails
 In my heart as well.