Grab my hand. We're running someplace there
aren't ghosts in our tea
or seaweed at our feet
and we're not sinking up to our necks in the names of people
that we can't repeat.
We're getting out of here
even if we have to rip our way out with what's left of our teeth.
We're running, okay, we're gonna pack our shitty lives into a shitty suitcase with shitty folding.
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