Fred is an arsonist—and, Fred is not an arsonist. Let me explain: Fred has thought of fire, its power and grace, for a long time. Perhaps since he was a child. He often watched fires, mesmerized by
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Mourning feels like opening an empty drawer
And weighing the hollow space.
Mourning tastes like soup that's gone cold,
What was once a warm memory has now been replaced.
Mourning is remembering to say was and not is,
And forgetting after each reminder.
Mourning is overthinking for days,
And wishing you had been kinder.
Mourning is not the end of the world,
But for one moment,
When everything is silent, gone, said, and done,
It creates a crevice deep in your heart
Painful enough to cause Armageddon.
And weighing the hollow space.
Mourning tastes like soup that's gone cold,
What was once a warm memory has now been replaced.
Mourning is remembering to say was and not is,
And forgetting after each reminder.
Mourning is overthinking for days,
And wishing you had been kinder.
Mourning is not the end of the world,
But for one moment,
When everything is silent, gone, said, and done,
It creates a crevice deep in your heart
Painful enough to cause Armageddon.
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