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I remember,
well,
seeing my grandmother
shortly before she died.
We were alone in that smoky, dusty, dusky, god-damned room
with the cancer in her lungs
tearing through her insides
while the bedsores and lacerations
were tearing through her skin
like seeing her was tearing through me.
I ended up
having to go outside to feel better
by lighting up another cigarette.
©2008-2009 ~Cloud-Fixative
:iconcloud-fixative:

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The not quite true story.

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January 13, 2008
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