A Pill

There is no pill for eternal grief.

For pain that lasts long after it is supposed to linger. When you’re sent messages like angels with broken heads and your bleeding. A walk in the pure white snow results in a bath of tears.

How I am sick of the pills and pretending. Of acting like anything else matters. Death keeps coming despite anything you can prescribe.

Father
Sister
Son

Don’t tell a soul that they’ve taken yours and replaced it with a stuffed bear.
Fake, fluffy and acceptable.
Not barren despite the rainstorms.

I still cannot believe that they are gone. It’s final. Death. They sent me a sign tonight a broken angel; they let me that there is no hope. At least not for me.

There is no pill for eternal grief.

Thank heaven for my best friend.

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