Poetry is a language of the heart. It speaks to us all, but do we ever reply. Yet ours aches, and pains, and we always wonder why? When there is a salve to soothe, and a balm to calm, we throw it away and ignore the psalm. And when hope is needed, and help is near, to instagram dm’s the podcast will go. An answer may never return, nobody knows. But to nourish the soul, and the heart along too, a sip of liquid death will have to do.