Snowstorm

 

Fear is my heart
in my throat
rattled by words I whine
Head in his hands, flying blind.

Hollow wind chimes
breed this dreamlike song,
but I know it only means a storm is coming.

He is the storm, I am the eye.  

Primal are the cries of agony, 
songs of my heart in overdrive.   

Leave no trace; of what we leave behind. 

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