I Think I Am Dead

The sky is made of molasses.
The fear spread like fire.
They came in enormous masses,
buzzing together in a choir.
Their eyes are white and glowing.
Their bodies are like shadows
and they move without you knowing.
The smoke is up to my elbows.
I can hear them coming.
Their heavy steps are above my head.
My throat is numbing
from the awful stench and dying dread.
I think I am dead.
I think I am dead.
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Rovva

QC

YWP Alumni

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  • Nonfiction

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  • Nonfiction

    By Rovva

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