Hospice Eyes

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Hospice-eyes spit daylight in

a spiteful, restless tone;

floats above

a timeless flinch that

breaks beneath the sheets.

Rose-shade glass,

that blinds your eyes,

but fastens to your doubt.

Daylight pours

but can’t afford

a brain-dead harmony.

Through this rot,

for right or wrong,

sends liquor down the well.

Rising up,

The shit-face cup

reads,“Rebel or die Cold.”

Once she thought,

it’s been too long

so hurry up the day.

“Fuck you too,” the same unknown

now heaven’s not for keeps.

Oh, blanket stone, a match-book thrown

can quiver at your feet

But hospice-eyes and lullabies

will never blend so sweet.

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