after Olivia Gatwood


do you turn in bed, wrap the pillow around your ears, drown out the sound of her crooked wails, convince yourself you’re simply ignoring the hissing shrieks of the alleyway cats searching for a companion to cure their late night loneliness?


or do you sit up, soaked in the sweat of shared sorrow, does your chest concave as your body remembers what it means to be hollowed out  too afraid to move because what if her choking fills your own throat? can you bear to lose air once more?


or do you keep dreaming

hear her cries like static

in the background of

your silent slumber

does her voice become

just another howl of

the wind roaring against

your bolt locked window 

does she become

just another ghost

haunting the cracked

pavement, gliding along

the fossilized footsteps

of all the girls whose

screams sounded

just like yours?