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.