Thy lonely voice and somber tone
Of melancholy words ‘ere spoken To linger here and left alone Amongst dreams thy thoughts have broken Whilst sitting still enduring all The fathoms of thine emptiness Mine own demise in time befall My mourning without recompense Thy earthly form to sever thee From this final mortal coil She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t hurting. She wasn’t stuck, crushed, defeated. She wasn’t broken. Not...broken.... But her thoughts betrayed her two legs, in an ever damning synchronicity, as they rocked on the ledge. Every second of regret was buried under a minute of torment, and that voice had finally gained control, and this time it would not be silenced. She had run for too long, she had hidden in the alcoves of fear for decades, and she could bear it no longer. That wind was bitter in December. She didn’t even bother to wear a coat that day, because what snow could possibly be colder than that of her heart?
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Editorial Staff
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