grief is begging to be forgiven, and
believing you do not deserve it.
it is rearranging your internal organs and
acting as if you are not choking on the inside.
it is a valid pain- a beautiful agony- it is
scars we inflict upon ourselves for love.
what is more bittersweet than knowing
that those we lost stay with us after all?
grief is dressing our bleeding wounds with
roses, and watering the flowers with our pain.
hurting for love is not really hurting, is it?
it is life’s biggest pleasures and joys,
just with another mask and another name.
you cannot just it let it go, just move on,
as where does all this adoration go?
it stays, and it stays, and it lingers still,
fermenting your heart until you’re rotten
and sour, your feelings are nothing but a
shot of poison even to the worst alcoholic.
grief is watching yourself decay and doing
nothing to save yourself. you are septic,
and you would rather not be any other way.