Five Stages of Grief

On the day my sibling chose the rope

A woman came to the door 

After dad cut him down 

I listened to his chest

There was no beat

Echoing silence bouncing off his veins

Thank God

Now that is ironic

Thank God

Thank God it wasn’t Grim tapping on the entry with his scythe

Reaper had made me the foolish weeper taking him


Leaving me to find his hollowed shell

The woman at the door was here to tell me 

What I would ultimately encompass 





Would go his death knell

The woman as the door told me I would inevitably endure 

The five stages of grief

First denial, then anger

Oh here comes bargaining

She told me I would hit 

Then involuntarily slip 

In my old habit of depression 

After traveling up all those floors

I would knock

Open would be acceptance


I looked at her with disbelief 

How could this woman at the door 

Summarize my terrorized prime

With the simple number


Maybe this day wasn’t even real 

Perhaps she approached the wrong abode

Any second now my sibling would come home

With no string singes 

Sawing his neck

How could this woman at the door know 

Months from now

I would tongue fuck his best friend

In hope he would bust in the room

That he would clip them so hard

They would cough up their lungs

Then I would want to beg for his endow


The first stage of grief, 



How dare the woman at the door assume what I would do

Every newspaper review I would lit a red hue

Then stomp the ashes on cue every morning 

Inherently my abhor 

Would lead me to deterrent desire

How could he leave me dammit! 

Make me see him as only frozen in time

Force me to pass his sedentary senescence

How could he hand me the burden baton

Of lowering his casket

So he could give the Earth 

‘A lack of oxygen’ induced kiss


Stage two, 




Woman at the door

Do you think if I tried harder 

He would still be here?


Just maybe

That if Dad and I had been there before sunrise

We could have stopped him from writing that slaughter-note?

Perhaps if  I severed my fourteen dotage angst

Somehow that would reverse the inherent fate

Woman at the door

Why am I plagued with the ideas

What if

What if 

Girding my head

What if 

I had said

I loved you more

I know it is so cliche to say

When you lose someone of upmost urgency

But what if 

That actually would have delayed 

Brother’s departure date

The theories to thwart your yearning ebb 

Would have me pause in the street 

All cold stiff


Third stage of grief,



Woman at the door, please

Share with me why am I this way?


All I want is sex 


After I had a “great” time

How funny nothing feels like 

A great time

When one of the people I sought to seduce 

I could chug a bottle 

To chase away the nightmares of you

Say that’s why I want to fuck so much 

Maybe if I feel something physically 

It could trigger something mentally?

Happiness could spill out of me 

Some feeling could be forced in to break the dam

Happiness could spill out 

Or something sweet as such 


Stage four,



Um, woman at the door?

I think I understand 

Or at least have swallowed sorrow

That has been secreted

He did not mean it 

To cause my dependency 




Then crave

Of all human touch

John did not want our mother to spiral sot

He never aspired

For dad to shut off

All emotions except facade

For our eldest brother to isolate

Atrocious mission

The voices inside

To cease

To subvert

That is all he wanted, right?

Woman at the door?

I’m sorry I never even got your name

My emotional state was adjacent with

The ignorance of importance

My kinsfolk 

I’ve chosen for myself

Breath in the little moments

Even if they’re not found

In the present

Right now is all we have

I love you 

That phrase is my nightly pill


Final stage of grief,


This poem is about: 
My family
Our world


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