Grief is parasitic, like a barnacle that latches onto the skin of its host, It lives inside you, growing and gnawing, It finds a home in the deepest trenches of your heart and sits quietly, mostly. Ever so often, rearing its head and pulling at the strings you thought you had exhausted. Grief is narcissistic, like a Greek huntsman Who falls in love with his own reflection, Bringing with it, a melancholia that