I think I’ve known him all my life

I’ve decided I’m old enough to say
that time does not heal all wounds.
I know this because I’ve experienced
the kind of
grief
that clings to you and claws at you
and weighs you down
piles up huge cold stone boulders on your heart
vice-grips your mind and body with razor pincers
kills all feelings as if time being stops
definitely destroys relationships
and then kicks back
waits simmering and smiling
watching you reel
fall to your knees
and when you stand
if you stand
you discover you aren’t as straight as you were
when you went down taller
which he finds hilarious
this slouch of shoulders
a signaled suppuration of posture marking
the grievous wound that festers on forever
if you’re lucky
only hurt once
unlike me.

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