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When I Grow Up I Want To Be.
The air mocked the night my life shaped me.
The pine needles rustling violently as I sped faster, they crumbled louder.
My gut sensing deranged instability, you got me at first blink. How passive I cried.
No words, no sight, only the very clammy feel of the fearful night.
Oh what's in store for me? the thought races through my comatic body.
The fabric rips and the instinct can't kick in, it's only through the fighting
The war begins.
I still hear the pine needles rustling.
I felt the stranger tussling.
Though the air was frigid and cold, the skin of the stranger ...