Who's to say how to lessen a personal tragedy or whether it's been softened enough, because every blow is a small terror, a tiny sliver of death, a moment of horrific nausea caught in a swell that can never be measured or fully appreciated, acerbic, absorbed in anger, a denial so sour that the taste, the pain, the affront to humanity, will never heal. Live with it.

© Poem Fix 2012

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