by Samantha Hund
I’m watching you run
which is like watching you die.
I’m reaching out anyway—
marching closer
with each frost-bitten step.
I don’t know you, but you’re breaking my heart.
Death is in the wind tonight
but my palm is open to bring you home.
Yet you run further, faster,
into the dark.
______
Samantha Hund writes unsettling fiction, and poetry with teeth. Her work appears in Expat Press, Crowstep Journal, and Bottlecap Press. All rumors of vampirism are unsubstantiated. Find her at www.samanthahund.com and @sm_hund on Twitter and Instagram.
[GO HOME.]