Categories
Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

frantic swine

his echo follows
no matter how swift my feet
or hiding places divined

the night we died
amidst an ice fog
of our own design

god awful legions screaming inside his gullet

a sound
burrowed into my skull
flesh still seething
forever torn

“But you’re mine! You’re mine! You’re mine!”

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