Wednesday, March 20


Knee caps hit the stone floor,
they crack and freeze upon the marble.
Bitter sweet tears, streak down dirty cheeks.
Right before the silence.
Wrapped taught,
against the lofty pillar.
Inky cords biting into pale flesh.
The ripe sent of blood fills the frosty air.
Not a sound is to be heard.
Fingers scramble in the dirt,
Grabbing hold of the only thing left.
A heaving breath tears from her lungs.
As she clutches cold fingers.
They don't squeeze back.

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