Today, I read that a language dies every nine days. This is sad shit. 

One of my distant cousins died last week
We were related through a good many loan words
I had given him almost half of my vocabulary
He was good lad
A bit rough, lived in wide mouths that had no barriers
Explored hearts of rogues with loose tongues
Cut himself often with his sharp, unforgiving slurs
My cousin was a reckless free spirit
From a tiny town that dissolved in maps
Stretched syllables
Commonly called rural
He never bothered to give himself a clean shave
Never cared about the gentle lot waltzing in the big cities
He was loved by all
Used by all

The children of the town decided to put a blade to his jaws
And scrape the ruggedness out of him
They only meant to smarten him up
Smoothen his slang
But the blade slipped from their hands
Cut my cousin’s throat right open
They say he bled coarse words
Brisstled and broken
As he vanished into the atmosphere without a trace


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