Loneliness, one dwells in lonely places, one sees lonely places, we feel the slight breeze of a sad glance through the wind, we hear the silent tweet of a mockingjay wondering if he will mock the wrong person.
Bang…he lays on the ground.
Why must one die, why would you commit corruption, a crime. Bird, Mockingjay.
Abigale Thomas
This article appears in Wild 2.0.