this sorrow

it creeps up on you,

rising from compartments

where until now,

it’s been shelved away,

out of sight,

separated into categories assigned according to degree of difficulty.


occasionally, the suppression order is breached.


horrors you can’t name,

scenarios you can’t contemplate,

situations you can’t control,

people you can’t save,

and pasts you can’t recover

all break ranks to move in a viscous wave

from those neat, labeled boxes,

towards the cavity in your chest,

where hope once lived.


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