I savor grief like a fine wine
Except I’m an alcoholic
And I hate wine
I savor grief like an addict
I wallow in it
I wrap it around me like a warm comforter pulled straight from the dryer
I lose myself in the scent of it
The cloying, sickly-sweet stench of desperation & refusal to accept reality
I court grief like a desperate Tinder fuccboi
Relentless
Selfish
Wanting nothing more than to consume it
And be consumed in turn
I want to drown in it
Painful chest-squeezing
Throat-tightening
Sinus-blocking
Wretched gasping
Heart feeling like cold hands reach in past my ribs and methodically ripping apart any sense of belonging or security
The surety of emotional devastation
A familiar comfort
I flirt with grief
I take it out for dinner at the little Italian bistro hole-in-the-wall with the phenomenal eggplant parm & shitty service
I pull out grief’s chair and pay the bill even though grief would be totally fine with splitting it
At the end of the night
I shyly lean in for a kiss
Sweet anticipation curling
Grief doesn’t meet me halfway
Grief yanks me forward
One hand in a fist clenching the front of my shirt
The other angrily grabbing the back of my neck
Lips smack together
Grief molding itself to me like cling-wrap
Demanding
Desirously claiming all that I am and everything I could promise to be
The ashy, bloody taste of grief fills my mouth
Sick aftertaste of shameful guilt mingling with a self-assured certainty that this is only what I deserve
I abandon myself to the inky, dripping, shadowy abyss
Hoping against hope there won’t be enough of me left to stare back out at the next one
Except I’m an alcoholic
And I hate wine
I savor grief like an addict
I wallow in it
I wrap it around me like a warm comforter pulled straight from the dryer
I lose myself in the scent of it
The cloying, sickly-sweet stench of desperation & refusal to accept reality
I court grief like a desperate Tinder fuccboi
Relentless
Selfish
Wanting nothing more than to consume it
And be consumed in turn
I want to drown in it
Painful chest-squeezing
Throat-tightening
Sinus-blocking
Wretched gasping
Heart feeling like cold hands reach in past my ribs and methodically ripping apart any sense of belonging or security
The surety of emotional devastation
A familiar comfort
I flirt with grief
I take it out for dinner at the little Italian bistro hole-in-the-wall with the phenomenal eggplant parm & shitty service
I pull out grief’s chair and pay the bill even though grief would be totally fine with splitting it
At the end of the night
I shyly lean in for a kiss
Sweet anticipation curling
Grief doesn’t meet me halfway
Grief yanks me forward
One hand in a fist clenching the front of my shirt
The other angrily grabbing the back of my neck
Lips smack together
Grief molding itself to me like cling-wrap
Demanding
Desirously claiming all that I am and everything I could promise to be
The ashy, bloody taste of grief fills my mouth
Sick aftertaste of shameful guilt mingling with a self-assured certainty that this is only what I deserve
I abandon myself to the inky, dripping, shadowy abyss
Hoping against hope there won’t be enough of me left to stare back out at the next one