With each stroke
A Write or Die response to They Call It The Species by Tamyka Bell
Published in
1 min readOct 17, 2019
You won’t get it
see?
Hands
on your malleable
tragedy
Lungs held under water
pumping songs
to the Shrike’s melody
Something planted you
neck deep in entropy
storm of coincidences
lulled into
inflammable history
Beware the cross-eyed
lullaby of ecstasy
The gentle voice
nudging bones
to commit felony
She comes turning
your epic life
striked through
now a horror poetry
Without the hyphen
to claw out,
she waits in glee
She’s told everyone but you
see
the alleged kat, Rahul Misra you have been entered to the Hell of the Dead by me. To escape to the Living Hall, you will have to recreate this piece in your own words or extend it as part of the Write or Die collaboration. Failure to comply will leave your name and soul in the Hell of the Dead.
