The tick ceasing, restraining dams built on tear rivers exploding
Fluid and Word competing, tumbling, stampeding, assaulting
She was a vacuum, desperate to feel.
And so she wrote and wrote until nothing was left, except damp papers and filled yet blank spaces.
YOU ARE READING
haycoo
Poesíain which I try to write a haiku everyday (and fail at it, most of the time)
