I fear coming close to death
for many different reasons
has scared me in a way that when grief touches my life like a thunderstorm
Each blot striking me
Each blot leaving me frayed (imagery of lightning leaving that tree like trail)
Remits of
Attends never completed
Night terrors of fear struck last moment by his hand
Flashes of memories past and imagined futures stuck in dreams
As quickly as they come, is as quickly as it past.
But the thing about Grief and thunder storm is they have a way of always coming back.
Draft














