I have no yesterday or tomorrow: no previous, or next.  It is always now.  Why did you kill me?  Was it planned?  Did you tell me and truth pass me bye, a sudden scent carried fleetingly on the wind.  Was it for love that you killed me? Did you think I would die?  Push.  More a nudge…  Not violent at all.  A seabird cries out, startled at this twist of nature.  The world spins as I spin.  My scream will chill walkers on the cliff path on desolate afternoons, stall them in their routine and in their thoughts until they hear only the seabird.

I am still falling.

Harry McDonald

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