At first we think we’ll make it,
those beginning steps so promising
before we sink without warning.
The headstones are too far away,
every one a panic-inducing reminder
of our own fragile mortality.
Do we care enough to keep going?
Yes. We have to.
But sometimes you can’t control yourself.
The pain and fear and helplessness
swallow you,
exterminating everything
in the wake of your loss.
‘What if’ changes nothing, and yet—
We’re standing at the graves.
Meant to bring solace to the living,
they never really do.
They allow us to more easily hold on
rather than let go.
To pretend that worlds don’t end
in a matter of minutes.
Grief and rage well up inside me,
some pity but more than that, hate.
Fuck fuck fuck, my insides scream.
But nothing helps.
We carry the things that matter,
but we can never carry this.
They say love triumphs over death.
I say bullshit. Love is death.
Sunlight heats the right side of my face,
but although we leave,
the chill never seems to.
No matter how many times the world ends,
the sun still comes up.
And yet—