Painting by Shiori Matsumoto

Grief is not just mourning for something you’ve lost;
It is worse! it is not
The blood but the pain
That rushes through your veins.

It leaves you numb, hollow like abyss that
Even the shallow ghosts are afraid.
Indifferent your thoughts and distant your soul becomes,
Leaves you incapable of everything
That pertains to love, care and peace.

Too distant to taste the sweetness of someone’s words,
To caress the hands of love
And pain in someone’s eyes,
Making that someone you alike.

So contagious and inevitable the grief it is
And eternal grotesquely as chaos & clamor comes along with it;
Something you can’t get rid
Of unless you are dead indeed.
When even the hot tea sips

Could not mitigate the dreary chills.
When every second takes a season to pass
Like a clock on the wall that never ticks.
Spring is Autumn’s withered leaves,
Summer is winter’s bone-chilling winds.

When your depressed heart, heavy breaths,
And numb eyes coalesce,
Your soul you let the demons possess.
If you hold it on and do not let it go
Your body and soul the grief will feed on.

As it sticks to you like filth,
Lets you drown in its melancholy.
The more your lungs pump the
Dismal air inside
The less you are alive.


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