Writing

There was this girl

With eyes the color

Of the sky that fills

Your childhood memories

She had dirty blond hair

Always in a braid

A braid that held more flowers

Then cherry blossom trees

Part One: “Of the People”

Let a symphony of voices form a cacophony so loud

God themselves won’t be able to ignore our 

grief, our

sorrow; the shattered fragments of our hearts

Stuck in my head

The lyrics go round and round.

Unstoppable, insurmountable

A cacophony of sound.

They won’t go away

And with each repitition

I can feel my brain exploding

Like nuclear fission.

Nighttime hits like a truck. Sleep is far from your grasp, and the skin under your eyes wilt.

Nearly 5.2 billion people use the internet daily, whether for work, school, communication, or entertainment. 

We were isolated; quarantined. The social strain was… immeasurable.

Midwestern night.

There’s something out in the fields,

Something banging on the roof.

Fresh vomit in the toilet.

The sink is running, so you can’t

Hear your own heavy breathing.