Grief Poem by Nour AbouelSaad

There is no plural for grief,
The word itself is an uncountable noun,
Maybe because grief can't withstand company,
A chemical reaction,
Rather than a physical dilemma,
Where an initiation would lead to the fall,
The fall to a hole,
And the hole to an end,
Of silence,
Paralysis,
Illegible ink stains,
Muddled in tears,
Thorns of memories,
Slitting veins,
Draining blood,
Grief,
Like guilt,
And hate,
All, mindless feelings consuming the void of living,
Feelings with meanings,
And side effects,
That you only learn,
When your small heart faces the big world,
It is what they call,
An unfortunate battle,
Of predetermined scores,
One to the world,
And shame on you,
Along with the fall,
Comes the surrendering,
Full submission to a kind of weakness,
With strict commission to waste you,
To deteriorate what is left of you,
Even when it is not worth the whole damn fight,
You cry,
You weep,
You scream,
Calling on all destinies to save you,
And all the miracles you were too gullible to believe in,
For a change of path,
But then,
You insist on breaking things,
Damaging them, so that you won't be the only one broken,
The only one missing pieces,
The only one who can't be whole,
You commit to the strategy of letting go,
Laughing at how cheap you sold your feelings for,
And how simple it is,
To run,
Till your chest hurts and your lungs beg you to stop,
Till you are numbed by the pain,
Vehemence and passion?
Were these feelings real?
Were they ever a part of your emotional history?
The bruises,
The aches,
The never ending dwellings,
You sit back,
Watching yourself, getting drenched in flaws,
Daring to wish for an end to this tiresome melancholy,
But was that beacon of light,
Some kind of hope to start again?
Or is it finally the end?
Dreaming,
For a way to stop,
The running,
The falling,
The capricious cycles of living and loving,
Losing pieces of yourself when letting go,
You realize then,
That sometimes,
Putting the full stop,
Is harder than writing the sentence!