scream.
They screamed. Ҭ
The air rattled in tune
Ҭand they screamed so loud Ҭ
their heads blew up.
Finding themselves in a place that made no sense,
they pieced together secrets,
white lies, fear, dreams and glue them with beliefs.
ҬAnything
to draw images of themselves Ҭ Ҭto validate their existence
constructing
a common thing called memory. Ҭ Ҭ Ҭ
Time passes.
Myth becomes reality. Ҭ Ҭ Ҭ Ҭ ҬThey call it history.
from Meet My Dead Grandfather
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