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?