Grief doesn’t descend
as a single gray cloud.
It takes its time.
It slowly blinds
you with soft
falling ash,
and enters your pores
like a dying mist.
It settles in
your throat as
a burning wind,
and rips at your lungs
like rabid ghosts.
It burrows its way
like a blind vole
under the surface
of your days
leaving hollow trails
It scrapes across
your body, etching
scars only you
will ever see.
“I’m fine,” you say
And smile.
(originally posted on Medium.com)
