Grief is my substance of choice.
The pain
And hurting
And longing of loss
Is the most bitter sweet pill,
And I swallow it with pride.

I might not have felt the deep suffering
That sets my bones alight
For a while,
And instead of enjoying
The pleasure of peace
I inflict it instead on myself.

Little taunts that run through me
Are set as reminders.
A humbling form of dissonance
To ensure my self loathing
And agony
Remain.

I’m not quite sure why,
It doesn’t make me feel any better.
It doesn’t make me love
Or cherish
Or hope
But still, I anoint myself
The dealer
Of those little bitter sweet pills,
That put the grief in my bones.