My grief is a bus on the wrong side of the road,
I didn't see it coming
And neither did she.
My grief is the consoling, warm mug of tea.

The shape of my grief rolls down my throat,
It's scratched all over the words that I wrote.

My grief is a fence with flowers and cards,
It shakes in the wind when cars drive past.
My grief smells like rain,
My grief sounds like fireworks,
The frenzy, the lightshow, it brings back my pain,
Light up the sky and show me where it hurts.

My grief and I spend time like old friends,
We laugh,
We joke,
And she yells when I poke.

I poke and I **** til I rip her to shreds,
My grief is old
And my grief is new,
It drips in bright red,
And it scars where it grew.

My grief is tearing me from the inside out.
My grief smells like old stale blood,
My grief is a slow drip,
My grief is a flood.

My grief holds my hand in the hospital chair,
My grief grips my stomach,
My bones and
My hips,
My grief grabs my throat and tightens its grip.

My grief is the words I'm writing now.

My grief is these words I can't say out loud.