365 Days of Poetry — Day 126

Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.
Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.

In repeat, she goes.

Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.

Her ears are red with blood that has been summoned toward the outer skin. Her eyes are wide, dilated, and full of  life.

The pain is real.

Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.
Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.

The piercing cries permeate her sanity, refusing to ever let her be.

Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.

This is how it will always be.

This is her story.

Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.
Grip. Bear. Pull. Scream.

– Brittany Rose

Author’s Notes: I know that this is different from the material that I usually post, but hey, one has to shake things up every now and again, no? Okay, I lied, it is more than that. I believe that poems like this need the spaces in between in order to represent the tone correctly. Those aren’t just new lines, the simple strike of an enter button. No, those lines are silence. They are the lack of words suspended in space. They are the moment after the words that are spoken, and before the ones that are soon to be uttered. They are the unknown, the true meaning behind it all. They are — necessary. 

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