She packed the grief neatly, stowed away in a suitcase. Every now and then she’d pick it up with just one hand. Look how strong she is.

Pores radiate grief
Trembling in loss
I’ll stay here till I die till I’m dead

Sun rooms & empty tombs
Word puzzles well used
Anxiety keeps us crinkled
Green paper back days

The key to good writing is knowing the very last word to the story before you even know the first. That’s when you play god, that’s when you rule the world.

Your death was like a blemish to the doctors, nothing an expensive cream and five business days couldn’t fix. But to me, your death was a wart that I’ve had since senior year, from the worry and the stress. I rub my thumb over it, to remember, to soothe, to hurt, to heal, to do it all over again. And again and again. You are my cycle, my scheduled grief. I rub my thumb over you and today I don’t feel a thing.

He swept her life up, and turned off the lights

Taking dead peoples things use to freak me out, until I wanted to be surrounded by everything that you were.