In early morn,
Trying moments are born.
Stuck in my head
Are the countless ways to be dead.
The crowd’s whispers have my heart fluttering
And my lips stuttering.
The culprit remains at large,
Yet I’m nearing the end of my death march.
Featured image by Freepik
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR
Armella Gladys Ruganintwali Saro, who writes under the pen name, Ella_ecrit, is from Kigali, Rwanda. Her love for words and books inspired her to put down her own. She aims to awaken the artistic and thinking minds of her readers and put into words what others cannot. Her work is yet to be published, but she shares some parts periodically on her social media platforms.
