The family tree has been decaying as fast as I’ve been withering
its roots rotting, its branches thinning
the mother regretting, the father forgetting
the children refusing to outgrow infancy
it’s been on its knees, hunched back and sight decrease
and I’m not even twenty-three, I had not even tainted my vows
I had not even been freed;
our tongues have been broken
our language are words unspoken
our swords duller and duller
illness is one bastard merciless ruler
Alana Marroquim, Feb. 2019
Bravura Repentina 