It was a marathon race of timeline. The days are bound and shot. How do I come to you to express my grief of the country in tumult!
In shouting and screaming, there was no magic wand to invoke peace. Your mouth opens and shuts like the shell valves. The scollops― words, swim in sea of burials.
The seriality was unconscionable. It falls short of a stroke. The blood splits. A riot erupts to wet the lips of curved razor. The sun retreats, to let the stars find their sky.