Are my parents dead? Is the world about to end? Explain the tightness in my chest, this nameless, all-consuming dread.   Worst of all is all of this still won’t prepare me for my father’s grave or nuclear war. What a wildly way to waste such torment. – © Sam Hunt, 2018 Advertisements

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The first time we kissed I envisioned my funeral, and for the first time it didn’t scare me. I’ve never told her that. It’s wise to know when to keep your mouth shut. “Are you okay?” she asked as she put her hand across my face, gently drawing me towards hers to kiss me. Her […]

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Should you chance upon this happenstance where life is lived without romance, relax when they chatter and glance at you askance. Skilful solitude can save oneself from suicide when given time. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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A Broken Record

Amid this infernality you are eternal, my dear, and I fear I will always love you. Candles can be used for luminescence and for arson, and I may be burned alive inside this strange illumination. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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Hold up the mirror as we die together, flying to the sun with melting wings.   “Aren’t we beautiful?” you say, for something shines inside this horror show; maybe just our eyes when we say “I love you” as we shovel in the snow, digging our own graves. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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Twenty Twenty

She told me “it could be ten days, it could be ten years.” Eight tenths of a decade have passed since I promised I’d wait, and the tears shed and blood bled have stained like fate on pleasant memories. Only two more years await. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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