Wistful Declarations

A short summary

Grief

Grief is a deep, depressive black colour,

It’s the taste of a stiff, burnt, cold steak.

Grief is the smell of rotten cheese, and wet dog,

It looks like a sharp knife slicing into something it shouldn’t.

Grief is the sound of sniffling people and awkward silence.

Grief feels like someone’s punched you in the gut so hard they made a hole.

Grief is like falling, and falling . . .

Always falling.