by Shivangi P., 16
The aching grief takes a seat
in the empty chair beside you.
Do not see it as a mere emotion.
It gifts you with a sore heart
built on shaking grounds of despair.
Do not let the feeling go unnoticed.
Embrace it with open arms
as you take in its scent,
its look, its power.
You’re grieving, grieving,
constantly grieving.
All for a being
you never truly lost.
Reminiscing on what could’ve been,
what will not be,
what cannot be saved.
Locked in a prison of desire
You kill yourself for a ghost.
It’s the beginning of the end.
In incepto finis est.
Suwanee, Georgia
Bridge Ink 