NaPoWriMo, poetry, writing


Screaming into the abyss.

But not a sound escapes.

Not an echo to rebound.

A flurry of bees fly out her throat.

Their buzzing sounds take over.

Covering her ears, filled with clouds.

Heavy Fog filling her brain.

Suffocating, heaving weighted breath.

Fitful sleep, tossing and turning.

Exhaustion runs over.

When will the torture end?

April 29, 2022 – DRM

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