Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Trying to make the pieces unfit

Only hours had she passed,
And we argued over colors.

"Purple,"I squeaked out, fighting to be heard.

Blues and oranges and yellows.
I wanted to shout at a soul
Whose hands I'd never hold again.

Perfumes were taken,
A rocking chair, a scarf, some jewelry.
Pilfering the last of the monarch who left us.

Like it was common sense.
It turned my stomach.


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Trying to make the pieces unfit

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