Happy.

Nothing Gold Poetry.

Your blood for our health they said and I said no but it did not come out in a way they could hear, in vocalized sadness and tears and acceptance of a fate that is not mine to choose. I thought of my brothers and sisters and for a moment peace was mine because this was happening everywhere, for us unlucky ones born on the days of 13 and 4 and 5 and possessors of robust hearts for which no one bled. I feel callings for things I do not understand and they say I cannot feel desire so I don’t, but I want things and I never have them and that is the way it is. They laughed while they killed me and my blood became their
health and I wondered if they were happy.

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