I heard the droning,
of the dead spirits far away,
their sorrows would play,
as my hand moved toward my throat,
lingering there as the cries grew,
a small, slow breath,
then anticipation rose in my chest,
the strange, euphoric energy was my test,
filling me with endless haunts,
but it made me bold,
my blood ran cold,
I was restless,
but not without courage,
it turned me into someone else,
so I jumped,
the building was high,
and like a bird I’d fly,
then there was no sound,
as I violently hit the ground.
© 2011 Frank Atanacio
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