Crying. When the water in your eyes explores new paths on the contours of your face. And your vision's clouded. Throat's choked up. And your hands cover your ears. As if shutting the world out might alleviate your fears. But it only serves to drown you in your chaos.

Then there's the crying when the sobs rack throughout your body. But you daren't make a noise for fear of being overheard. For fear of being labelled as weak. For being known as someone who can't hold themselves together. But everything built is meant to be broken. And those broken pieces flow  freely, taken away in boats of tears down the river of your face.

And then there's the crying when the pain seems beyond tears. When your insides just collapse onto themselves. When the only tangible things in the world are the wall behind you and the floor beneath. 

But the worst is when you're writhing, when the body can't seem to adhere to one outlet of grief. You just sit there, just break .

That's how he felt when his eyes stared into space, and his sister's, into nothingness. Skin the color of ice and in the air, hung the stench of death.