Little One
She sits so quietly, the little one.
The Mad River | Poetry
Little One
micropoetry
Photo by Photoholgic on Unsplash
She sits so quietly, the little one.
Her hair so black, her hands so frail, like spiders.
She talks so softly, the little one.
Her words not sharp, her ramblings strange.
She weaves so swiftly, the little one.
Human hair and strung out veins.
She kills so quickly, the little one.
Her footsteps barely touch the ground.
She breathes in your ear, the little one.
“Your soul, it’s dead. Like mine.”
메타데이터
- post_id
- bb48979d7458
- slug
- little-one-bb48979d7458
- url
- https://medium.com/the-mad-river/little-one-bb48979d7458
- canonical_url
- https://medium.com/the-mad-river/little-one-bb48979d7458
- author_url
- https://medium.com/@jpatrice
- status
- ok
- fetched_at
- 2026-06-09 15:37:30
