Life After Death

by S
(NYC)

There is no relief
For the pain of loss
There is no cure
For the ailment of having been left
Time heals all, they say
They must be in the business of selling cheap words, say I
Anyone who has been left knows that loss is part of life
What they package as healing and wrap neatly in a bow,
I unpack as numbing, as only I can know.
Time numbs it all.
If only my reality sold as well as their hope.