Rapid.
Like a bullet exiting the chamber of a gun, the frequent phrases flow into her mind leaving her an empty shell, she screams to escape it, but no sound was heard.
Silent pleas burst from her throat as her shaking sobs soak her pillow. She yells louder and louder until her voice is hoarse.
YOU ARE READING
Nighthawk
PoesíaNighthawk: a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night-an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future-that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that...
