Circle
This is not precipitation. Coming from my eyes are memories. Long forgotten fears grip me by the throat. I peel away until there is nothing. I will not give in to the wailing sirens. I pray to unfamiliar gods. Not too far from here is paradise. Hell on Earth this is not. Sean Cunningham is twenty-three, from Liverpool, and recently completed a BA in English Literature. His writing consists of very short poetry and prose and has appeared in Moonchild Magazine, Bending Genres, and Gone Lawn, among others. He can be found on Twitter at @sssseanjc. |