Joyride: ‘he killed ten thousand people with the sleight of his hand running far, running fast to the dead’ – sufjan

joyride,
and a long silent gaze out the window at the world,
where there are words beneath words,
and truth is speaking the unspoken,
that something between us couldn’t give,
that so much we held back, we hold back from ourselves
first, and that’s the real shame of it,
as you shift the gear in drive and go,
where too much grief we know might grow
from all our attempts to keep it at bay.

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