She yelled from the inside of her lungs.
Believing the pain would leave her body.
But she only ended up feeling hollow.
The tears had dried up.
Nothing remained but sorrow.
So she tied a scarf around her neck.
And walked away into the misty shadows.
One thought on “Misty Shadows”
And, if you untied her scarf and put an ear to her parched lips, you’d hear a deafening cry rattling from the depths of that dry vessel of womanhood. Bottled despair. Eau de Tragedy.
Made by who or what?