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,

Paul