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This grief is wordless.

I open my mouth.

Close it.

I am a fish, bashing itself on the ground for air.

Your spasm-limbs besiege me.

Again.

And again.

On loop on the insides of my eyes, those sick-lids that keep you caught, writhing, unable to catch the downwave tear-torrent.

I should have held you in my arms.

I should have held you in my arms and rocked you like a babe.

I should have let the shock-waves of your death ripple through me so you could be left, quiet.

But I ran.

Foolishly.

Like a fool, I ran to find some nurse, some machine, some machine-nurse to pump you life-full.

And you left, trembling.

Published by thevoiceinmyhands