Grief never really ever goes away.
It simply changes shape from day to day.
It lives there in the center of your chest
And waits to be expelled with every breath
A cloud of mist that hangs over your head
A heavy log that pins you to your bed
A friend who holds your hand all through the town
A Mac truck with no brakes that runs you down
A drone that finds you wherever you try to hide
A .38 that’s holstered to your side
A slice of pie, a piece of cake, a treat
A pack of wild dogs running down the street
A wave of loss that drowns you in despair
The sweet, sweet smell of lilacs in the air
A song, a lyric, a chord, a melody
The face of each sad stranger that you see
A nagging itch at the center of your back
The first tingle of your next panic attack
A sunset, a storm cloud, a butterfly, a tree
Every awesome, horrible, beautiful thing you see
The thing that lives in the center of your chest
Floating up and down on every single breath.
It shifts its shape each moment of every day.
It never really ever goes away.