Grief
Published in
1 min readJan 29, 2018
Grief doesn’t descend
as a single gray cloud.
It takes its time.
It slowly blinds
you with soft
falling ash,
and enters your pores
like a dying mist.
It settles in
your throat as
a burning wind,
and rips at your lungs
like rabid ghosts.
It burrows its way
like a blind vole
under the surface
of your days
leaving hollow trails
It scrapes across
your body, etching
scars only you
will ever see.
“I’m fine,” you say
And smile.