Grave Matter

by Karina Halle

“The Night Does Not Belong to God” - Sleep Token

Fantastc

Self-sabotage has always been the name of my game.

Grief is funny like that. It lives alongside you, sometimes in silence, and then a random thought, or memory, or smell will punch through you like a fist, your bleeding heart in its grasp, and you have to relive it all over again. I often think of grief as a cycle from which there is no escape, an ouroboros, a snake of sorrow eating its tail.