where are you now, my mothers, my fathers,
my lovers, my brothers?
were you taking care of me when I was taking care of you?
what does pain in the heart measure?
and what does it matter
when you have bars and cigarettes
and cataclysmic events
to take your mind off
the heartbreaks of everyday life?
who, besides me, will tell your stories when you die?
who will add up all your emotions, all the frames of your life?
who will cry for the day of your death, though still you live on
through all your suffering
understanding time only as moments
and taking parts of me with you
‘til I have nothing left?
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