Some people carry sorrow
In such a way that it flattens
Their shoulder blades
It erodes the spinal cord
And devours the skin
Until there is but a memory
Of a person that remains

And yet somehow
We continue to feast
On the crumbs of grief
That fall onto the dinner plates
Of our most fragile memories

And still we sleep
In the crevices of
Our deepest insecurities
Only to be comforted
By a gentle reminder
That the end is
Growing nearer everyday

And we continue to play
The part of the aspiring optimist
Always grinning and laughing
While what's left of our insides
Curdle and churn
For even they are aware
Of the lie that sorrow makes