"We are way past that," she said aloud
and in a way that piques much interest
with a lurching of her soul, interestingly
We are wayyy past that, she said nonchalantly
like so much further beyond it, point blank
And here's where the story begins
I think mourning is for pussies (grieve)
I'm living steady-ready and equipped
my belt is buckled and I'm ready for action
Mourning is for pussies, and so is weeping
Said the man (who ne'er cries himself)
Boo hoo hoo, cry your eyes out
I say weep with an awareness of all that you aren't
have failed to become and will never be
Nor have ever been
One day you will cease to be. Until then...
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