Young Man's Grief

[kolemath]

Young Man's Grief


Not like a knife
but like a hundred hundred needles I donno. Hundred hundred feels like a typo
grief shoots through,

prick by prick drawing
out of the body the color
(not merely red

but the defining plethora maybe just definition?
of blues and greens, golds and browns)
until the skin is a shout and yes

to all existence, saying existence is heavy-handed and abstract
"Lost keys? Broken homes? Ruined hands? I love this contrast everyday stressors Freudian root issues and poetic image
Ha! Your art may sting

but I still hold the knife." So grief speaks here. I guess knife works since the opening line says not like a knife. Grief can still hold the knife..

Nice work