puppet master

sitting in the car, dark pressing in, touching
caressing our faces, forcing her lips open

“He’s gone”

The puppet master artfully taking control
pulling heartstings, water from
my tearducts, and my brother away from me

“He’s gone”

slipping down my face, soft like a stroking hand
drip, drip, drip, hitting my hands, splashing
washing away his memory.

 

~~

I miss you Davis, I miss you Justin.

I write for you.

~Em

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