The air was fresh with the smell of death. All I had left was heart. Thumping harder with each step, breath shortening. I can see things before they happen, My mind is the architect. I draw the lines to and from what’s to come and what I left.

I fight. I taste my blood. It was not as good as I thought it would be. But, it blanketed my uneasy emotions, bringing comfort to my chaotic mind. Soaking up my past for a filling future. Someone has to die. We know, but stare and think. Who will it be? I say you because you want it to be me.

Anthony Markland

I write to breath. I write to give. I write for happiness.

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