You who have killed our great-grandmothersnwith hopes and fears, desires and delusionsnmen of great sacrifice to our holy allusionndestroy all dreamers with debt and depressionnwhy are lan and doors(?) wondering about the soresn blossoming purple on your skinnshe will disintegrate into the subway gratenshe’s made of dust and blows off in the windnyou who have killed all people of sacrificenwandering the lands far and nearnyour hopes will beat you down nuntil you’re face down in the ground nchoking on the dust of your own waysnthe bed that holds you has held other sickness toonyou’re one of many who have come beforenher breath on your shoulder reminds you of your mothernher song you have heard many times beforenyou who have used your body as a vesselnfear and greed blossom in your chestnyou try to hold, desperate, to a holy allusionnthat blows like a feather in the windnthe dreams and the feelings you started revealingnare stacked so high they’ll fall from your mouthnnothing can hold them downnnot chains anchored to the groundnthe rust of which will show up on your skinnyou who are made of stars and ambitionnwhat will you drink when the river runs drynand no god on hire can make rain fall from the skynyour status can’t quench your thirstna pinprick of hatred turns into a green starnand shines acidic in the northeast skynher ghost came to your bed to see if she could forgivenand while you died she sang a lullaby