Is this grief? This iron lung?
This plummeting, visceral mine cage inside
This panicked fumbling for blunted keys
This encroaching wilderness of time?
Is it?
This curdled bellyful of hopes and needs
This fury at nonchalance – most casual of cruelties –
How dare it exist –
This excised patch on the tip of your tongue?
This knowing that you would pay this price –
All of it – over and over again -
Is it grief?
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