It’s a concept loaded with shrapnel, piercing the shade after darkness in a dive bar, twisting suspicion to gusts of whirlwinds. Voiceless shouts echoed through frowns; flattening fields left the dead to rest, stumbling to her bedroom door. Hate me? I’m dead. Broken hearts polished with side glances, begging for one more chance to change her mind. Bring me back to life, or bury me under her bed.
(© 2022 AC)