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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 26, 2018

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Submitted: May 26, 2018



I hear his voice in the distance

His threats send chills down my spine

We hide against the shadows, and listen

Leaving with only our lives

The images play back in my head

His hands around her neck

The light that nearly went dead

The chance we almost didn’t get

Mom is walking so fast

I can hardly keep pace

She looks as though she might collapse

But rather be far from this place

My sister is mute

Moms body a wrangled mess

Different shades of black and blue

Blood dripping from open flesh

Her frail body hidden under a fur coat

She clutches our hands tight

She attempts to clear the blood from her throat

Reciting the words, “we are alright.”

She says we are not going back

I feel like I’m going to be sick

Because we always go back.





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