Orlando shooting orlando slam
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curling fingers grasp cold hands tears swim in eyes forming oceans of sorrow in some furious thunderstorms in others yellow paint marked her summer dress dark blue stars dotted his button-up
When I was ten years old, I was hunting mushrooms with my father. There were landings in the trees and I thought it was bird watching, but my father informed it that it was used to spot deer.
My history is written between the lines.You see, I come from a long line of keep your head down, do not tell them what you are.
Orlando, tomorrow is forming no more as we pretended mourning informed by scores our innocence ended sinisterly splintered bodies