Stage 2: Anger

I can’t stop writing about you
because it’s the only way I know how
to come to terms with
the anger
the grief
the ache
the absence
the confusion
the misery
the regret.
None of this feels real
and you don’t really feel gone –
it’s a cliché that happens in novels and on sitcoms
but young men don’t die
in the real world
or at least they never used to,
not to me.
It wasn’t real
when the news shook my core
and broke the ground I used to walk on;
it wasn’t real
when people told me they were sorry for my loss
because I didn’t feel like I had lost you yet;
it wasn’t real
when I said goodbye to your ashes
and I kept reminding myself it wasn’t you;

it was real at 1 a.m.
when I screamed at you in my head,
when the anger broke over me
like a tidal wave
and I wanted to slap and hug you
and demand to know
why you did it
and how you could have been so
careless
reckless
stupid.

Anger is understandable
they tell me

but they don’t mention the guilt.

– the five stages of grief

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