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Squall Screaming

Squall Screaming
Squall Screamingnothing but the ticking clockblustering wind colliding ancient branchesshe likes the sound she makescaring nothing as the sleeping child rocksnew moon giving no light to comfortall around dark as lonely dark can bea book slowly slides away from brethrenhovers before falling with loud report child’s eyes wide below trembling sheetchilled silence sweeps about the bedjust ticking of the clock for companyand the cold skeletal hand that lifts the sheet•peter radley

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