Alina Happy Hansen

Movement ceases, air stills

a sinking feeling molds

and takes hold of the listener

a creak, a whisper.

Something is coming.

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-Alina

Words lift and mount

emotions, riding bucking

and fighting them

barely able to hold on

to the meaning behind

the sounds.

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-Alina

Sun, golden, drops in

warm and welcome

in the sky’s blue sea

a storm looming,

far off and approaching

gets closer and closer,

the sun begins to fade.

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-Alina

Saturated breath

thick with decayed words,

a mouth slick with venom

and a heart to match.

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-Alina