As far as months are concerned, July is a beast.
No other has hosted the repose of some of my most dear.
Nothing other than its return brings me back to those days of grief.
Inconsolable,
Volatile grief. A
Eulogy never
Relieved such pain and
Sorrow. A suicide, an overdose, and an
Accident, not in that order, haunt this stretch of time in perpetuity. The
Realization that age means nothing to Death, and goodness doesn't buy Life is wasted on me. It's something I knew innately. Yes, lessons are nice, but I'd rather have my
Young, good friends back again.
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
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