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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Lax Man
@laxman
Every pause here tastes like iron frost on velvet skin.
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