Needle spoon

Only five years or is it a whole five years?
I don’t know. 
Years too long or too quick. 
A trip slip and sink. Only just. Step missed. Twist. 
Throat closes and tiny air squeezes, drips through. 
Prickle stab. Gut grab. Drab. 
Empty meaning. 
I feel bad black blue. 
The messages stopped. 
You gave me a feather today. 
Grief is scattered, wrapped in coal boxes.
Opened once again today. 
Stinky sting gift. 
Don’t forget but move forward. 
Pushing through. 
Tight spaces too fine. 
The needle spoon. 
Too small. All too.