She's dying
By Chanara A
someone howled
a sound like a lyrebird shot dead by the merciless flick of a wrist
her blood ran dry
the thin limbs lay stark, blackened by the soot
devoid of the leafy foliage that used to cling tight
back in the ol’ days
the verdant dress that hung from her body
was reduced to barren rags
and her children that once roamed this void
were plucked from existence
long before she mourned
the mother was losing the battle I had brought upon her
and my breath hitched
as she cast one glaring, unforgivable look
before the withering tendrils of death crushed her
viridescent frame