The Literary Phoenix

Funny, the damage a silly little book can do. Especially in the hands of a silly little girl.

The clock, she races –
all the haste of a tortoise
watching the fall of the sun.

Stars, like white noise
in the heavens, laughter.
Yet all I hear
is the steady hum
of the heater
fizzing, cracking…

my heart racing.

Speed of light,
speed of sound…

dizzying silence,
as the seconds go by.
I grip the emptiness
with bated breath
in the pit
of my throat.


of the next moment
and what imagined horrors
it may bring.


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