Panic
Doesn't know where she's reaching tobut searches for a hand of sorts,
yet she only grasps broken twigs and red threads
abandoned and accompanied by a whole world as she sees it,
and keeps fumbling in the dark before her
more frightened now then ever before.
Poetry by muddy waters
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Written on 2006-04-04 at 10:38
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Zoya Zaidi |
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