You were desperate to fill up a void
so much that once you did nothing
else mattered to you except
the feeling of fullness.
The blame was easy,
the truth was and
still is too
hard for
you.
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Angel Adagio
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Field of the Fallen
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
The truth is so hard!!!!!! Liked it.