Grief

Grief, that silent alien, pounces on you

as you prowl around the dripping, malodorous

backyard of the darkened house, half hidden

from view on the far side of the barren slope,

And digs its fangs into your throat.

Grief lies in wait, crouches in the empty hallways,

the twisting helical corridors, flowing into and

Out of each other, through half sleep and

one-tenth wakefulness. A dream so real,

you can almost touch the junk-filled sink, 

the cracked bathtub corroded with rust, the broken tiles.

The dank air creeping up your neck sets your teeth most hideously on edge.

Grief is at your foot, as it kicks this broken chair,

pushes that half-closed door – Ok. it is stuck.

Grief eggs you on to push again, a little harder, and once more, until 

The shrouded corpse propped up behind it

tips over on its side and hits the floor with a sickening, dull

Thud. And that is just about when

Grief crashes you awake, sinks its teeth

Into your throat and rips it out.