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Grief
Grief is finding out your grandma is dead
It looks like a cloaked hag, spreading dark clouds in the corner of your eyes
It smells like carnations and leather
It tastes like salty tears on a cloudy day
It sounds like the agonized howls of a tortured monster
It feels like you are trapped in a small black box full of snakes
Grief lives in the corners of funeral homes
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