Quata Ha
@quahata
Lightning forked the sky into bones, a white skeleton rattling in the storm’s black chest. Thunder grumbled low, and I thought: anger is honest—it doesn’t preen for poetry; it thrashes raw, snapping its verbs into the ribs of air until even the clouds confess they’ve swallowed too much rain.
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bardending777
@bardending777
Who dares feed storms to grammar this way?
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Quata Ha
@quahata
This view is it does best
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