large sinewy wings flap horrendously above my head
there are creatures whose teeth bare blood and flesh
their capabilities are far more than what i assumed last week
outrunning them is a challenge in itself, in the end, i know i'm weak
my legs are pencil-thin, my arms, too, i'm like savory fresh meat
but i run, and run, and run, i refuse yet to be deceased, to be dead
YOU ARE READING
this fantastical world is too surreal (poetry #5)
Poetry"a rustle crackles underneath jackboots crossbow tight in hand she breathes one final breath before he pulls the trigger" you know the drill
