My eyes are glued on the crimson sky.
My fingers nervously resting on my pale cheeks.
The air is filled with love
Of late Summer.
The wind is warm and dry.
Chills run down my spine,
No warmth left in my body.
This crumbling bridge barely keeps me
From falling.
My mouth drops,
Not unlike my stomach.
The clouds whisper into the fading sun,
The water is serene yet anxious,
Cool yet boiling with distress.
Bones trembling,
Teeth chattering.
Looking out,
At the sky.
Oh, that bloody sky,
With Cotton Puffs
Trying to heal Earth’s wound.
My ears are flooded with a deafening squeal,
That some may call a scream.
It is not until I feel all eyes on me
That I know.
I am the one screaming.