Famished, or: Frozen

My 1stnovelinee My parched throat stings; and when I try to form, Nought comes forth but heaving; this painful rasp. Metaphor locusts consume in their swarm… Depleted… whence… that… dry, terrible gasp? In this verse desert, there are not enough * I’m searching but cannot find quite the right * Damn… did it ring sweetly…? […]

Famished, or: Frozen

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