Throat raw with grief or is it the whiskey each fuelling the other like oceans feed storms and storms feed oceans. blue volcanoes push magma down my face but instead of sulphur it's the sodium that burns they say applying pressure on coal gives you a diamond the weight of your loss cuts with clarity time is precious life is finite.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. Sometimes grief can’t let you say things, so you have to write them down.
Enough of the moroseness; I hope you’re doing well, and if you want to read something lighthearted after this, I’d recommend this poem.
Take it easy,