Famished, or: Frozen

My 1st novelinee 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… Continue reading Famished, or: Frozen