Chevelle Wernsmann Biography

A child's cries heard throught darkened streets; he has no where to run too and sometimes nothing to eat. If you listen real closely, so closely he's here, you can see all of his face and then he just seems to dissapear. A child's voice fades into the cracks, never to hear him, never to get him back. Punished by people, who could not possible love; they think sent from hell and not God up above.
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A torrent of words
in a low guttural sound.
Limbs flailing in air,
trying to find an escape.
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