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By Nora Chery

Volume 2 Issue 6

April 14, 2022


Image provided by Rodeny Stewart

Is this real life Or is it my radiant fantasy? My mind flooded to a landside, To escape from reality. I unlatched my tight eyes, Looked down at the crib to see, I’m a cruel girl, God will give me no sympathy There’s no chance for an easy life, an easy home A little life, nor a little home. The winds blow, Against the full yet silent crib, Does it matter to me? Alana, Just took you back, Put a pillow against your head, cut your breath And now you’re dead. Alana, a lily sprout that bloomed, I’ve gone and ripped it from the dirt. Sweet Alana, I hated your cries, But now I’m sure I’ll hear them again tomorrow I’ll carry on, carry on, as if what I did, hadn’t mattered at all. It’s too late, midnight had just begun The moonlight sends shivers down my spine, Hands been shaking all this time. Goodbye, my Alana, though you’ve gone so soon Kicked you out and faced the truth.

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