Processing Grief

“I don’t think I can eat.”

She didn’t eat for her last few days here.

I say this

    over text

        in my mind

            yet

my heart is ripped to shreds,

my mind

    is devouring everything in its path

    wreaking havoc from the inside out

        until

            it consumes itself.

It’s hungry for more pain and suffering.

It’s thirsty for more tears and blood

    to pour from my wounds.

It ate all of me.

What more could it want?

Still it hungers for more.

No wonder I can’t eat.

    There is no part of me left to feed,

    but my mind.

        And it’s scraping its plate looking for seconds.