I'm running to the light but a wall starts to turn.
Her shadow is cast and I stop.
It towers, I note, and I anticipate the next move.
She's tapping her feet, a pair of pink shoes.
I feel my chin being lifted so gently.
Her obsidian eyes glare into mine.
And I'm terrified.
I'm still running to the light.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Cry
PoetryA collection of poems :> WARNING: implications of physical and verbal abuse, violence, and slight descriptions of panic attacks.
